


Escribamens

by PTDean



Series: Escribamens [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Betrayal, Courtship, Dark Draco, Dark Magic, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Good Draco Malfoy, Humor, Implied Mpreg, Inheritance, Intrigue, M/M, Mating Rituals, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Purebloods, Ritual Public Sex, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Scheming, Sex Magic, Sexual Tension, Slytherins Being Slytherins, dracocentric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 104,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTDean/pseuds/PTDean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco learns a highly secret family spell that will reveal his enemies deepest secrets. But is he ready for the truth about Harry Potter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Lord Malfoy

Chapter 1  
The New Lord Malfoy

With Lucius in Azkaban, Draco claims his inheritance.

 

 

“Convocoriri Heirus Malfoy”

At the incantation, the silver coat-of-arms shimmered with magic, and then words appeared firmly in Draco’s mind.

_Advoco testatio  
_  
[Summon the witnesses]

Draco beckoned to the two figures hovering outside the doorway to his father’s office. They stepped forward and spoke their phrases.

“Prolixe arbiter Severus Snape” Severus intoned carefully.

[I am willing to be the male witness]

“Prolixe arbitra Narcissa Malfoy nee Black” Narcissa echoed.

[I am willing to be the female witness]

_Inroduco heirus Malfoy  
_  
Draco stepped forward. “Praenomen Draco”

[My first name is Draco]

_Recognosco heirus Draco qua Malfoy.  
Suscipio Draco qua heirus Malfoy.  
_  
[We recognize the heir Draco as a Malfoy. Affirm Draco as the Malfoy heir.]

“Postulatio Titulus Malfoy”

[I claim the Malfoy title]  
 _  
Recognosco Paterfamilias Malfoy qua Draco Malfoy  
_  
[We recognize the Head of the House of Malfoy as Draco Malfoy]

“Testor Paterfamilias Draco Malfoy” Severus said.

[I bear witness to the master of the house, Draco Malfoy]

“Testor Paterfamilias Draco Malfoy. Cedo Paterfamilias.” Narcissa added.

[I submit to Draco Malfoy as the Head of my Household]

“Crecio”

[I accept my inheritance]

Draco felt the magical energy building up and hoped his mother and Severus were moving quickly out of the room. Only the Lord Malfoy was allowed within the study except during certain rituals.

The door to the study slammed shut, and there was an immediate flash of blinding light as a wave of force slammed Draco to his knees.

The Malfoy house magics were suddenly a part of him. Draco reached out and felt that his mother and Severus had indeed made it out to the hall and were fine, waiting anxiously at the door.

The new link wrenched his attention from the insignificant figures outside the door. There were other things to show him.

A summation of the family assets. Twenty-four Gringott’s vaults. Shares in innumerable businesses in England and around the world. A very nice flat in London proper, and another in Knockturn Alley, vacation homes in France, Italy, Spain, Greece, and several others scattered across the preferred vacation spots of the world for the past twelve centuries. Safehouses in every reasonably-sized human population area in Europe. Four choices of bolthole, where the Malfoy family could live secretly and in style for a few generations, if necessary, to wait out troubles.

Malfoy Manor. Complete with all its many wings, dungeons, and a sublevel.

Wait. Sublevel?

There. The only entrance being, predictably, from this office.

“Hmm. What’s this for?” Draco mused aloud.  
 _  
Secrets._ The Manor told him.

Draco jerked backwards in surprise.

“You speak.”  
 _  
Yes. Only to you, Paterfamilias.  
_  
“Oh. Fine.” Draco thought for a minute, wondering if the house could read his mind. “What sort of secrets are in the sublevels?”  
 _  
It is a spell. A very special one. The Malfoys have used it to remain in power for centuries.  
_  
Some kind of particularly nasty curse, no doubt. His father’s lessons in exercising power through careful applications of fear gave that away easily. Maybe even…Harry Potter’s smug face appeared in Draco’s recollection for a moment. He waved it away.

“What kind of curse is it?”  
 _  
Not a curse. It is a mind spell to use on your enemies, on your allies, on anyone who might be of use. Lucius left instructions to train you.  
_  
Of course. Draco could almost hear the lesson in his father’s voice now. “Never rule out a possibility. A Malfoy is never caught unawares. A Malfoy has a plan in place for every possible outcome, no matter how improbable. Those who are caught unprepared reap their rightful reward, and good riddance.”

“Show me.” Draco ordered. The far wall disappeared, revealing a staircase.

Several flights of steps later, the endless winding stair emerged into a dimly lit hallway of several anonymous-looking doors. Draco paused.

“What are all these doors?”  
 _  
Each door leads to the archive of a particular Lord Malfoy. The archives of the current Lord are inside the door at the end of the hall. It will be empty now. You may wish to browse your father’s archive first. It was moved upon his death.  
_  
“Imprisonment.” Draco snapped.

The Manor paused.  
 _  
Imprisonment._ It conceded. Draco knew it was only agreeing to the term out of obedience. The family magics were connected to the Records division of the Ministry. If Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned for life, he couldn’t handle the affairs of the family. Which meant he wasn’t the Lord Malfoy anymore. And therefore couldn’t re-enter his office. As far as the hereditary magics were concerned, the Lord Lucius Malfoy was dead.

Draco ground his teeth. He knew very well the Lord Lucius Malfoy and his father were two very different people. Nobody else, except perhaps his mother, was likely to agree with him on that, though.

Damn Potter.

“Where is it?”

_Last door on the left.  
_  
Draco entered a…well…a library. Of sorts. In place of bookshelves, the walls were lined with a latticework of pigeon holes, stacked closely together from floor to ceiling. Draco could see that each hole contained a scroll, and bore a label inscribed on small plates of either brightly polished silver, a tarnished bronze, or a very utilitarian-looking steel.

In the center of the room was a single table, upon which three scrolls appeared to have been placed with great care.

“Care to explain?”

_Each scroll refers to an individual person your father has had dealings with. Either as an ally, an enemy, or simply as a tool. The tags indicate which. And these three are those of most note, of course.  
_  
“Who?”

Draco reached forward and turned over the scrolls, finding the names inscribed.

~Tom Riddle~

~Albus Dumbledore~

~Draco Malfoy~

_Your father’s greatest ally, the leader of his enemies, and his own heir._  
  
“What are these?”

_These scrolls are the result of the spell. Escribamens. It creates a map of the mind and soul and magic of the target.  
_

Draco thought for a moment.

“My father has never mentioned Tom Riddle.”

_This is the true name of the one your father refers to as the Dark Lord.  
_  
Draco jerked his hands back from the scroll. Not something he was ready to deal with. Fine then. Albus Dumbledore.

Draco grabbed the wizard’s scroll and spread it out on the table. Several clips helpfully extended themselves from the tabletop and held the edges in place. Draco just stared.

In the center was Albus Dumbledore, looking quite a bit younger, far younger than his father could have possibly known him. The man was…dancing. He was horrible at it too, but seemed unaware of this. Eyes twinkled merrily as he started kicking his knee up, then kicking the leg out in the opposite direction. Left knee up. Left leg out and to the right. Right knee up, then the entire leg. Draco stared, open-mouthed.

_The picture in the center shows the target as he considers himself. The Manor explained.  
_  
Clearly Albus Dumbledore was a child at heart.

“What are those?” Draco pointed to the symbols running along the top of the page.

_Each refers to an aspect of the person that you may wish to view. The shield shows their magical protections and special abilities.  
_  
Draco hesitated, then touched the symbol. The dancing portrait shrunk considerably, leaving room for a dizzying array of glowing lines encircling the portrait.

_Don’t look at them as a whole. Focus on a single thing and you will know it’s meaning.  
_  
Draco focused on one of the glowing circles around Dumbledore. A talisman, a small pin worn over the heart. It had the effect of deflecting any heart-stopping curse. Draco looked at another one. A glamour, over his eyes apparently, to make them twinkle good-naturedly at all times.

Draco looked at the entire scroll again. Now he thought he could tell the difference between magical artifacts and glamour at a glance. And…what was that…an active spell to keep rain off. And that appeared slightly different than a listening spell there, or a customized Protego worn against the skin there. The old man had a lot of protections and spells around him. Draco ignored them.

“And these out to the sides must be special abilities?” Draco mused, concentrating on a drawing of an eye off to the left. Ah. Dumbledore could see invisible things. How typical. And…there…he’s a Legilmens. And an Occlumens.

“You said the spell was Escribamens. How is that related to Legilmens and Occlumens?”

_It is based on Legilmens, but far more advanced. Your ancestor, the Lord Daedelus Malfoy, developed it to counter the prevalent use of Occlumency among his fellows. Unlike Legilmens, Escribamens works over time, and far more subtly than the most artful of Legilmancy. It therefore is less effected by Occlumency shields.  
_  
“But it still works?”

_Yes. It takes longer. The scroll will not update itself. And the spell must be accomplished beneath the same roof, or if outside, within shouting distance of an Occulmens target.  
_  
“What are these other symbols?”

_Bloodlines, alliances and feuds, special strengths, special weaknesses, magical and physical status, obligations and attachments, fears and desires.  
_  
Draco looked at the symbols. What did he want to know about Albus Dumbledore? His magical protections were depressingly enormous, his special strengths were likely to be the same. His fears and desires…he boldly pressed his finger to the small picture of an upturned palm.

The lines disappeared and were replaced by a single sphere around the dancing Albus, with several small symbols inside it. Then there was a box around that sphere, with many symbols and portraits inside the box but outside the sphere. And finally many symbols and portraits outside the box.

Draco scanned over the many symbols and faces until he found one…concentrated on it.

In his mind’s eye he saw Albus Dumbledore sitting…on the floor? Yes, in his office, with his knees up to his chest. “I think it’s unwise for you to linger over these dreams, Harry.” The man put his wand to his temple and pulled out a silvery strand of memory, depositing it in a pensieve. “I think it’s best that you simply cast them away.” Draco saw Harry then, as Dumbledore saw him. Poor boy, he’s had no childhood at all. Will this be the year that he dies? No, better not to think that way. If Harry dies, we are truly doomed.

Draco shook his head. Weird, having another’s thoughts in his head, especially when they related to his worst enemy in such a fond fashion.

“Did I just catch some of Dumbledore’s thoughts with those images?”  
 _  
Probably. The spell captures actual thoughts if they are linked to a sufficiently strong emotion inside a memory.  
_  
“What are these divisions?”  
 _  
Fears from within oneself, fears relating to those one is connected to, and fears relating enemies or outside circumstances.  
_  
Draco looked at all the items on the scroll. It was truly, a complete collection. Amazing.

“How many scrolls are in here?”  
 _  
Four thousand, two hundred and sixty two.  
_  
“Merlin! That’s…my father compiled detailed reports on just about everyone who’s anyone, didn’t he?”  
 _  
Close to. There are some important gaps.  
_  
Draco thought a moment. The contents of this room were beyond price. The things he could do with…

“Where’s Potter.” He demanded.  
 _  
Right here.  
_  
A ring of light glowed around a particular cubby hole. Draco moved to it quickly and started pulling the scroll out, then stopped, frowning.

“Wait. This is James Potter. I’m looking for his son. Harry James Potter.”  
 _  
There is no scroll for him.  
_  
“What? Surely the Dark Lord would have wanted information on the Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Die. My father-“  
 _  
The Lord Lucius Malfoy attempted the Escribamens spell with the Potter heir as his target, but the spell failed.  
_  
Draco groaned. Of course the dumb git would be immune, the damn Killing Curse bounced off him!  
 _  
His attempts to find him, and then more recently to find opportunity to perform the spell within Hogwarts, were unsuccessful.  
_  
“What?”  
 _  
The spell failed, presumably, because Harry James Potter is an Occlumens.  
_  
Oh. Well…

“But it would work if I did it anywhere in Hogwarts?”  
 _  
If he is also inside the castle, yes.  
_  
“Good. You’ll teach me this spell now.” Draco commanded.  
 __  
As you wish.  



	2. Orphan of the Ancient and Noble House

The Lord Draco Malfoy strode through the narrow corridors of the Hogwarts Express like a young blonde god. Or so he thought of himself. 

Not necessarily far off the mark, really.

Robes swirling behind and around him, showing off glimpses of the rich, dark, glowing green of his rare dragonhide boots and belt, drawing attention to his toned legs and slender hips. A flash of silver, the Malfoy crest on his hand, now wearing the long ponytail of purebred Lordship…Draco knew he held the ladies of Hogwarts in the palm of his hand.

“You’re late, Malfoy.” Hermione Granger snapped as he entered the compartment.

Well. The eligible ladies of Hogwarts, at least, Draco amended in his head.

“Nobody asked you, Mudblood.” Malfoy snapped. 

“If you’re not dedicated, there’s really no point in being a prefect.” Granger lectured haughtily. “There are responsibilities and if you’re not going to take this seriously I don’t want--”

“I don’t care what you want Mudblood. Mind your betters.” Draco said calmly, then proceeded to ignore her. “Obviously we each have things to do. I suggest we go about doing them. I’ll be checking on my Slytherins, the rest I leave to you to…divide up how you like.” Draco sneered, ignoring the girl fuming as the other prefects nodded agreement.

“After Sorting, the prefects of each House can meet to decide how to balance the current students with the new first years.” Draco slid a meaningful look at the other Slytherin prefects. “You know where to find me. The rest of you, I’ll see in the Head Boy’s room tomorrow afternoon. You’ll get to me with the time, won’t you Michael?” He gave the Head Boy a nod, deciding to treat the older boy as an equal for the time being.

“Sure Draco.” The boy said agreeably.

“Good. Until then, I’ll be with my Slytherins.” Draco announced, sweeping out the door.

“He can’t just--” he heard Granger exploding before the compartment door magically swung shut behind him.

Draco kept walking, five, six, seven, eight steps before the door opened again and the boisterous sounds of the other prefects leaving came to his ears. Draco hid a smirk. He’d not only shut Granger down. He’d effectively taken over the meeting, unilaterally decided the issues Granger would have debated for hours, and dismissed the meeting.

Now to find Potter. Draco wanted to set the foundation of the spell now, away from the interfering old man who apparently had the ability to sense new spells occurring around him.

Speaking of.

Potter was just coming out of the washroom. Draco quickly slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the blank scroll he’d shrunk there, quickly enlarging it and holding it innocently in his free hand as he pointed his wand.

“Escribamens.” Draco whispered the spell.

Potter jumped as if he’d felt the undetectable spell. Apparently he really was studying Occlumency. Still, Draco felt the tingle of magic entering the scroll as the spell set.

“Potter.” Draco said curtly. “And to think I’d presumed it was a problem in the washroom. Just because your filthy Muggles won’t bathe doesn’t mean you’ve an excuse for contaminating the magical world with your stink.”

The odd thing was, it was true. The supposed savior of the wizarding world smelled of stale sweat. Draco’s eyes narrowed, taking in his rival. Harry Potter looked…neat and clean and entirely un-Potter.

“Revaelo” Draco cast, and then had to stifle a gasp.

The Boy Who Lived looked…awful.

His normally messy hair was matted, he was sporting what looked like a fresh black eye and his face and neck showed traces of older bruises as well. His eyes looked sunken and hollow. His too-large clothes hung on a scarecrow frame and the collar of his shirt was ripped.

Draco took an involuntary step back.

“Potter, what the--” Draco stopped himself.

“Malfoy.” Potter spat hatefully, a spark of something finally coming into those lifeless eyes. “What do you want?” The boy’s fists clenched, looking at Draco’s pointed wand then pointedly ignoring it, raising his chin defiantly. Beaten but not quite broken, clearly.

Draco considered the boy before him. He wasn’t going to get much enjoyment torturing Potter as this pathetic figure. Someone had been beating on Potter, and it hadn’t been him, and for some reason that pissed the Lord Malfoy off.

Draco made a decision.

Two quick steps forward and he snatched the boy’s arm, spun him around with his arm behind his back, and pushed him into the wall.

The putrid unwashed smell rose up like a wave. Draco paused, suppressing a gagging reflex.

“Going to break my nose, Malfoy?” Potter taunted, clearly furious at the manhandling.

Draco wasn’t nearly finished.

Grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck, he flicked his wand to open the washroom door and tossed him inside.

Potter landed hard, sprawling on the floor.

“Immobulus. Colloportus. Scourgify. Episkey. Episkey. Episkey. Reparo. Finite.” Draco paused as Potter raised his head to scowl at him. Whether his skin was red from the rough scrubbing or anger, Draco wasn’t sure. But Potter was definitely pissed.

“What. Is. Wrong with you, Malfoy!” Potter hissed, reaching for his own wand.

Draco looked at him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have let him go so quickly.

“Incarcerous.” Potter's face went even darker as the ropes wrapped themselves around him.

“Now. I’m asking the questions. What the hell happened to you Potter?”

Potter blinked. Opened his mouth to answer…and then snapped it shut, that angry look flaring up again.

“Fuck you. Why would you care?”

“I never said I did. However as the new Lord Malfoy I have important strategic decisions to make for the Family. And it looks to me like something is going on with a…as much as I despise you…a key figure in the war. So, out with it Potter. Who’s been working you over all summer?”

Potter’s mouth compressed into an uncompromising line.

Draco decided to take another tack.

“Come on, Potter. I’ve healed you and cleaned you up, fixed your…clothes, if you must call them that. I’ve got you completely in my power for the next few hours and I’m asking after your health. It’s only logical to be polite.” He explained in his most reasonable tone.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to be nice to a Death Eater that has me tied up on a cold bathroom floor!” Potter hissed.

Draco gaped. What the hell was wrong with the boy, surely even the Gryffindor wouldn’t be so stupidly defiant if he really thought Draco a Death Eater.

“Finite. Accio wand!” Draco caught the wand and advanced on the boy, grabbing a handful of shirt and jerking him upwards while he was still horizontal. Potter was still horizontal as Draco pulled him face-to-face.

“Who did this, Potter! Who the fuck did it?” He snarled.

Potter spit in his face.

Draco dropped him, going suddenly cold. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and calmly wiped the spittle from his cheek.

“You’ll regret that. And about the other, forget I asked. I’ll find out another way.”

He canceled the Locking Spell and stormed out into the corridor, nearly running into Ron Weasley.

“Weasel. Get out of my way.”

“Harry?” The Weasley could clearly see Potter on the floor in the washroom. “What did you do to him, ferret!”

“Nothing.” Draco stepped past the angry redhead and on down the corridor.

Five minutes later Draco arrived in the Slytherin compartment.

“Draco! I’ve been waiting for you darling! Come sit by me!” Pansy Parkinson gushed, pulling him by the arm.

“Pansy, I told you none of the pet names. Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, good morning.” Draco nodded to his Slytherins and they instantly gave him their full attention.

“Malfoy, being a Lord suits you,” Blaise commented flatteringly.

“Thank you Zabini. Do you have anything for me?”

“Of course. My guess is that naturally, 19 would have to end up with us, 15 for Ravenclaw, 27 for Gryffindor, and 20 for Hufflepuff. Then there are another 32 who could go either way.” Zabini handed over a binder full of profiles.

“Anyone interesting among those?”

“Three transfers, one from the Continent, Italy, one from America, New York, and one from India, Dharamsala. I think the American has potential to become a pretty powerful witch. Six orphans, two of which are Muggle-raised purebloods who are going to need some guidance in the wizarding world.”

“Pansy, go find the American witch and introduce her to some of our girls her age. Do try to be discreet with the portfolio this time, will you?” Draco spelled the American’s background check to separate from the binder and handed it to Pansy.

“Right, and I’ll try not to insult her friends right away either, dear,” Pansy reminded him sweetly.

Draco scowled at her and made a shooing motion. “I think you’re supposed to get to her before she actually has a chance to make the wrong friends. Now get going.”

“What about the exiled purebloods?” Zabini asked.

“Who are they?” Draco asked.

Blaise’s eyes glowed with excitement.

“Hortenson. And…Black.”

“Black! Are you sure?” Draco frowned.

“I’m positive. Jamina Lily Black. Or that’s what the Identity Spell said. Aside from the Hogwarts letter, she’s always known herself to be Jamie Spencer.”

Draco found the girl’s portfolio in the binder and sat back in shock as grey eyes looked up at him from the photograph. He turned the page and…yes…she was, inexplicably, the daughter of Sirius Black and Druida Arcadia.

“Product of one of those sordid prison romances, no doubt,” Blaise commented dryly.

“Kindly avoid insulting my relative and the youngest representative of the Great and Noble House, Zabini.” Draco snapped, removing the girl’s portfolio and shoving the binder onto Blaise. “I’ll be finding my cousin myself. See that the others are properly approached.”

Ten minutes later he found her, off by herself in a compartment full of Ravenclaws.

“Good morning. You must be Jamina,” Draco said, ignoring the glares from the studious types all around.

Jamina looked up at him sharply, then looked down. Draco reached out quickly and put a finger under her chin, pulling her eyes upwards.

“Jamina.”

“Jamie,” She squeaked.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name’s Jamie.”

Draco took a deep breath. Crouched down to her eye-level.

“Jamie. My name is Draco Malfoy. You should always give your last name when you introduce yourself. It’s very important to wizards where you came from. Do you know where you came from, Jamie?”

The girl looked shifty.

“Jamie…Black.”

“Very good. Your Hogwarts letter informed you of your true name in this world. Do you know who your parents were?”

“No?”

“Your father was Sirius Black. My mother’s name is Narcissa Black. They were cousins.” Draco told her.

“I have…family?”

“Yes. I am your cousin. And…wizards and witches take family very seriously. Do you know what it means to be a Black, Jamie?” Draco told her.

“Is it bad?” she whispered.

“Bad?” Draco said sharply. She cringed, and Draco had to soften his voice. “Merlin, no! Jamie. ‘The Ancient and Noble House of Black’. Jamie, you are like wizarding royalty.”

“But…then why am I poor?” she asked.

Draco sighed.

“Your father, Sirius. He was a brilliant wizard. I have on good authority he was an Animagus before he even finished school. Most wizards never achieve Animagus transformation in their entire lives. But…he was a Gryffindor, the first Black to be a Gryffindor in centuries. And, like all Gryffindors, he was brave, and hot-tempered, and a complete idiot. As such, he ended up in Azkaban. That’s the wizard prison. I assume that’s where he met your mother. They would have taken you away as soon as you were born, and he was never told. If he had, obnoxious Gryffindor that he was, we would have all heard about it. So someone else claimed the Black inheritance when he died.”

“Oh. Who?”

“The same Gryffindor idiot he died for. Harry Potter.” Draco said bitterly.

“Are Gryffindors bad?” Jamie asked worriedly.

“Bad? Sometimes. They don’t respect other people much. They don’t think for themselves. They don’t think much at all, actually. They’re mainly well-meaning idiots who get themselves and other people hurt if someone intelligent isn’t around to guide them,” Draco told her carefully. He didn’t want to directly insult her father, but if she didn’t end up in Slytherin she’d no doubt come under the wing of the appointed heir of Black, one Harry Potter.

“You’re not a Gryffindor.” Jamie stated perceptively. Draco smiled.

“No. I’m a Slytherin. Slytherins are the clever ones that make the plans. Some people think we’re sneaky, because some of us make good spies. And the Ravenclaws…well, these students are Ravenclaws.” Draco waved a hand at the bookworms. “They’re intelligent too, but in a different way. They do research.”

“What about Puffballs?” Jamie asked curiously.

“Hufflepuffs. I see someone’s told you something about the house system before me?” Draco observed, not entirely pleased.

“The cat lady who came to my foster house told us,” Jamie said.

“Professor McGonagall. Well, Hufflepuffs are very friendly and loyal. I’m very surprised they didn’t find you and try to befriend you already.”

“Some boys came but they were loud and scary,” Jamie told him.

“Well, if you didn’t like them, Hufflepuff is probably not the house for you, then.” Draco surmised. “And you’re sitting here with nothing to do, yet not reading. So definitely not a Ravenclaw.”

“I thought they decided what house to put you in when you got there?” Jamie asked.

“Well, they do. It’s called Sorting. We’re not allowed to tell new students how it’s done yet. But you do get some say in where you’ll go. If you already know where you want to be, you’ll probably end up there.”

“I don’t want to be a…an idiot,” Jamie informed him. Draco smiled approvingly.

“And well you shouldn’t. One Gryffindor in the Black line is more than enough for the next few centuries.” He smirked. Then saw Jamie’s matching smirk aimed back up at him and grinned widely.

“Have you tasted wizarding chocolate yet?”

“Is it better than normal chocolate?” Jamie shot right back.

“Muggle chocolate, you mean. And yes. Here, I’ll show you.” Draco drew out the small box and handed it to her, watching as she opened it and gasped as the chocolate frog tried to escape.

“It’s real!” she exclaimed, eyes shining.

“No not really. It’s magically animated. You can do anything with magic, Jamie. You just have to learn how to use it.”


	3. Strategy for a Sorting

“Slytherin!” The Sorting Hat cried.

The grumbling from the Gryffindor table was getting louder as the new first year joined her friends at the Slytherin table. That was the third Slytherin in a row.

“Looks like your plan is working,” Pansy observed.

Draco didn’t reply. He was busy watching a certain dark-haired little girl with piercing grey eyes.

“Black, Jamina!”

There was a pregnant pause as the last name sunk in, and then the commotion was exquisite. Half the upper-years were on their feet, craning to get a glimpse of the long-lost Black.

Draco snuck a glimpse over at the Gryffindors. Harry Potter was white as a sheet, staring at Jamie as if he’d seen a ghost. Draco gave a private smirk. If things went as he hoped, Potter wouldn’t even meet her until after she was well-established as a Slytherin.

The slender girl made her way up to the front and sat, ducking a bit as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head.

It didn’t take long.

“Slytherin!”

“That’s it! Those slimy bastards have done something to the Hat!” Ron Weasley bellowed with rage.

“I assure you Mr. Weasley, the Sorting Hat is doing it’s job as it’s supposed to.” Dumbledore’s voice carried smoothly over the angry redhead’s.

“But that’s four Slytherins in a row! They’re stealing all the first years!”

“It is odd.” Dumbledore admitted. “But the Sorting Hat is quite reliable. Miss Black. Can you tell me why you’ve been sorted into Slytherin?”

“I wanted Slytherin,” the girl said. “And I’m too quiet to be a Puffball. And I don’t like to study.”

“But why not Gryffindor? Your father was a Gryffindor, you know.” Dumbledore seemed perplexed.

There was another commotion as Dumbledore revealed the girl’s connection to Sirius Black.

“He was a well-meaning idiot,” The girl repeated Draco’s words.

Snape started coughing hysterically for some reason.

“He got himself killed saving Harry Potter, then Potter took over all his money. That’s why I’m poor. I don’t want to be in Gryffindor.” Jamie explained. “Can I go now?”

Snape’s coughing intensified.

“You may,” Dumbledore said, gravely, and the Sorting Hat was lifted from her head.

The girl hopped down from the stool and made a beeline for Draco.

“Did you see Draco? I’m a Slytherin too!”

“Oh, I saw, Jamie. And yes, you are definitely one of us.” Draco favored her with a smirk. He’d seen the massive cloud of guilt on Potter’s face after her casual accusation. No doubt, the girl wouldn’t be poor for long.

By the time the Dumbledore was saying his nonsense words, Slytherin had picked up an unprecedented 34 first-years.

As soon as the feast had started, Harry Potter was on his feet, followed closely by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Draco watched with an eyebrow raised as they headed straight towards where Jamie was sitting at Draco’s side, chattering excitedly with Pansy about the extravagant balls put on by many of the old pureblooded families.

For once in his life, Potter completely ignored Draco, and zoomed right in on Jamie.

“Er. Uh. Jamina?” He said tentatively, reaching out as if to tap her on the shoulder but pulling his hand back again.

Jamie paused in her conversation, then turned around slowly, looking at the Gryffindor expectantly.

“Um. I’m Harry Potter. Sirius was my…my godfather. I didn’t know he had a daughter.” The last came out in a whisper.

Interesting. His godfather. So that’s how Potter ended up with the Black estate.

Jamie just looked at him for a minute, then snuck a peak at Draco. Draco kept his face expressionless. She’d have to learn how to handle awkward emotional Gryffindors in her own unique way.

“You knew him?” she asked, her voice sounding awed. 

“I…for a couple years, yes. After he escaped from Azkaban. He was like the father I never had, for a little while.”

“I never knew him. I grew up…you know…in the orphanage.” Jamie said quietly, eyes downcast. Draco watched her carefully. Was she really taken in so quickly? Perhaps he really should step in.

“I suppose you’re here in your capacity as the heir of Black?”

There it was, the girl’s face betrayed just the slightest flicker of annoyance. Clearly he’d tangled her nets with his interference. Slytherin after all.

Potter was looking at Draco as if he’d forgotten he was there.

“You mean…I mean, no. I just…I never knew…if I had I would have…where did…” Potter babbled helplessly.

“I think what Harry’s trying to say is, he never knew Sirius had a daughter, and now that he does he’d like to get to know her. Isn’t that right Harry?” Granger put in helpfully.

“I…yes. Exactly!” Harry said, relieved.

“Is that what you want, Jamie?” Draco asked her, putting the game back in her hands.

She let a pregnant moment pass before answering very quietly.

“I…I think I’d like to know about my father. But,” Jaime looked up and surveyed the Gryffindors, naked distrust written on her face. “maybe if…Draco could come too?”

Clever girl.

“The ferret? Why the hell would he come!” Weasley burst out. Always dependable to demonstrate the Gryffindor temperament, those Weasleys.

“Because Jamie trusts me as a blood relative.” Draco informed him curtly.

“Blood-relative.” Potter snorted.

“We were his friends. The people Sirius trusted. Blood doesn’t mean anything.” Granger put in.

“Blood. Means. _Everything_!” Draco hissed sharply. “And stupid ideas like that are exactly why your kind will never understand _anything_ about this world, Granger.”

“What seems to be the problem here?” Snape’s smooth baritone slid into the conversation, causing the three Gryffindors to jump guiltily.

“I asked if they could tell me about my father, and they were telling us that who I’m related to doesn’t mean anything, and Draco was saying that it does too.” Jamie informed the Head of House, ever so helpfully.

Snape turned from Jamie to the Gryffindors with real anger in his eyes.

“I believe that would be twenty points from Gryffindor for having the audacity to disparage familial ties while talking to an orphan child about her parents. Ten points from Gryffindor for trying to pick a fight with a first year, you should be ashamed of yourselves. And five points for being out of your seats in the middle of the feast. Please excuse yourselves.”

“But…but…that’s not what happened!” Weasley was imitating a fish.

“Isn’t it, though?” Draco sneered.

“Jamie. I _would_ like to tell you about your father.” Potter said earnestly, “Malfoy can come too, if you want him there.”

“But…but…”

“Hush Ron.” Granger led the red-faced boy away.

“Be seeing you, Potter.” Draco sneered as the Boy Who Lived walked away.

“Now. Mr. Malfoy. We have double the normal number of first-years. Something I was not prepared for, which almost always displeases me. Somehow I suspect you are responsible.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“It was…in first year my father told me to befriend Potter, so hopefully he would be in Slytherin as is proper for a powerful wizard. I knew only what my father told me about him, and my efforts only made an enemy.”

“I’m well aware of your and Mr. Potter’s history.” Severus said impatiently.

“But the idea wasn’t bad, though. So this summer, I found that the list of new first-years is available to the public. Zabini handled background checks, and we identified which ones could end up in more than one possible House.”

“And then?”

“So then the people assigned to greet them on the train knew enough about them to make a good impression.”

“This sounds suspiciously…Hufflepuff, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus said, somewhere between disgust and admiration.

“Hufflepuffs don’t plan out friendships for their own advantage.” Draco pointed out.

“Very true. I approve, then. Perhaps we shouldn’t mention it to the other Houses, it never hurts to have a consistent advantage over the years.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“In the meantime, you’re going to have a very high ratio of first-years to Prefects. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions for dealing with that, do you?”

“Adjunct Prefects, sir. Each Prefect should get an assistant of their choosing, with a badge and similar authority, subject to approval by the Prefect.”

Of course, that would also double the effective number of Slytherin Prefects, who could deduct house points…it only took a moment for Snape’s eyes to narrow as he realized this, and a pleased expression quickly came over his face.

“Very well Mr. Malfoy. I’ll bring your suggestion to the Headmaster. In the meantime, you’re going to need a wand in each hand to keep track of them. May I suggest you recruit some of your year-mates for the task?”

“We wouldn’t want to be _too_ successful in that sir, not until Dumbledore has received your suggestion.” Draco smirked.

“ _Well. Do_ try your best, though,” Professor Snape said sarcastically.

Hours later, Draco was ensconced in his “throne” in the Slytherin Common Room, waiting for the nervous first-years to make themselves comfortable. He nodded to Goyle and Crabbe, who cleared their throats loudly.

There was a tense silence.

“You should all be very proud of yourselves. You’ve just been sorted into the noblest House of the Hogwarts Four. Slytherin House. It is not an easy house to be a part of. The other houses are afraid of us, because we grow up to become very powerful witches and wizards. The other houses are _jealous_ of us, because we often come from the most wealthy lines, and invariably _become_ wealthy after we graduate. But most deadly, the other houses are always _suspicious_ of us, because we are cunning, and because some wizards have used their cunning in cruel ways.”

Draco turned and nodded to the American witch, whom Pansy had successfully pulled into their ranks. Then he looked at both of the pureblood exiles, reserving a moment of eye contact for Jamie especially.

“Those of you who haven’t been connected to Wizarding Britain may not know this in detail. But there is a war going on. And most of the wizards in this school are on one side of it. The wizard they fight against, the Dark Lord, came from this house, and many of his supporters have come from this house. They hate and fear and suspect us for that reason most of all. You may be accosted by members of other houses. Accused of being a Death Eater. Or a future Death Eater.”

Draco gave a long pause, making sure he had the attention of everyone in the room.

Slowly, deliberately, he unhooked the silver cufflinks at his wrists. Pansy gasped behind him, recognizing his intent.

Draco drew out the moment, meticulously creasing his sleeves as he folded them up the lengths of his forearms, revealing the unmarked skin beneath.

“I’ll say this once, and only once. The Dark Lord does not mark anyone until they come of age. In Wizarding Britain, that’s 17. None of you will be expected to choose a side until then. My personal advice to you is that you avoid doing so while you have that luxury. Unlike some students I could name from other Houses, who have very nearly died several times as a result.”

A snickering arose, and someone coughed the word “Potter” behind their hand. Draco waited for silence again.

“If anyone pressures you to declare allegiance, to _either_ side, they are grossly out of line. If you feel the need to speak with someone about it, ask one of your Prefects to arrange for you to meet with you. My father was the Dark Lord’s chief lieutenant. I know what pressure is.”

Draco paused to let that sink in. 

“This year the war has been officially declared, so the pressure from both sides will be especially harsh. If you feel that your situation needs help from someone higher up, you should speak with our Head of House, Professor Snape. I expect you will treat him with the respect he deserves.”

Draco had timed his speech perfectly. As if on cue, the Head of House glided through the door, robes billowing awesomely behind him.

“I am extremely busy, so I will make this brief. Many of the other teachers do not like Slytherins, and will treat you unfairly. I hope your Prefects have explained the reasons for this. I expect you to respond to their foolishness with respect and dignity as befits your status. You may complain to your Prefects, or if you think it is _really_ necessary, to myself. Do not waste my time with trifles, however. 

“Additionally, I expect unity outside of these rooms. In the common areas of the castle, especially the Great Hall or the classrooms, there will be absolutely no bickering or dissent among you. You will hold your tongues and then settle your disputes _in_ Slytherin, away from hostile eyes. I hope that is understood?”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“Very well. I will leave it to your Prefects to show you to your sleeping arrangements. Good evening.”

It was several hours before Draco could get away by himself to examine the scroll.

It was mostly blank, but in the center was a very unremarkable looking Harry Potter.

Draco looked closer. What was the difference between the real Potter and what Potter thought of himself?

No scar. Interesting.

Draco was getting a very uncomfortable feeling from the picture, somehow. Then he saw it. The picture flickered.

The scar appeared briefly, exaggerated and incredibly ugly. The glasses were suddenly huge and clunky on his face. And…there was a strange visible energy sizzling around him, making him look…freakish. Draco reached out towards the picture and…a lightning bolt flashed out, searing pain registering in Draco’s senses as a small bit of skin on his hand was actually burnt to ash. 

“Holy fuck!” Draco cradled his hand, stunned, looking up to see a horrified Harry Potter looking at Draco’s hand, then curling his limbs in to himself as if to prevent them from ever touching anyone else, peeking up at Draco’s burnt hand guiltily.

The pain was dimming. Apparently the nerves had been charred beyond functionality and it was just the surrounding nerves that were reacting now.

Draco took another cautious look at the portrait. Potter was still all huddled up. He rolled the scroll up, shrank it, and put it safely in an inner pocket before heading off to beg a burn salve from Professor Snape.

Already, Potter’s scroll had to be different from everybody else’s.

Of course. It _was_ Potter, after all.


	4. Heirs and Bloodlines

“Escribamens Progenies.” Draco whispered. Potter stiffened, feeling the spell, and the Weasley spotted Draco in the act of lowering his wand.

“Ferret! What was that?”

“Something I’m sure you can’t afford, Weasley.” Draco said condescendingly.

Weasley turned red, predictably, and charged forward to put his face in Draco’s personal space.

“I saw your wand out.”

Draco made a show of wiping his face with a handkerchief.

“Mind your spittle, Weasley. It can be considered a personal insult and grounds for a duel. That you. Would. Lose.”

“What did you hex him with?” Ron demanded angrily.

“Nothing at all.” Draco snapped.

“Ron. Leave off. I’m fine.” Potter urged him, while giving Draco a suspicious look.

“Potter. Just who I wanted to see. Jamie expressed an interest in speaking to you about her father.”

“Yeah, so what business is it of yours?”

“I’m her nearest living male relative,” Draco reminded him. “so you’ll be mostly dealing with her through me.”

Weasley nodded begrudgingly, recognizing the formality. Potter on the other hand was clearly not happy with the arrangement.

“Look. I really would like to get to know Jamie for myself. She’s my godfather’s daughter, doesn’t that give me some kind of--”

“No, he’s right Harry. She’s an exiled pureblood, her relatives are in charge of bringing her up in the Wizarding World until she’s of age. If it weren’t for Malfoy they’d revert to females and it’d be Bellatrix in charge of her.” Weasley told his friend.

“Very good Weasley. Now. I came to find you so we could arrange a meeting to negotiate the exchange.”

“Exchange?” Potter asked, fists clenched.

“Of course. Memories of her father, remember?” Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “And of course, as her nearest relative I’ll be financing her end of the bargain.”

“But…I didn’t mean to sell anything, there’s no need to pay. I _want_ to tell her all about Sirius. Merlin knows what _you’ve_ been telling her.” Potter said helplessly.

“Yeah we do. He told her he was an idiot.” Weasley reminded Potter angrily.

“And wasn’t he?” Draco said conversationally. “I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t present when he got himself killed. Potter?”

Potter just clenched his fists and didn’t answer. This was too good.

“Well then. You’ve volunteered to donate the memories without compensation. I suppose it’s only appropriate, since you’re responsible for her inability to meet the man for herself. In that case, I suppose negotiation isn’t necessary. As Jamie’s guardian I’ll provide the Pensieve. I’ll warrant Granger can assist you with the necessary transfer spells. Once the Pensieve is full you can deliver it to me and I’ll handle things from there.” Draco suggested.

Potter was gaping.

“A…a pensieve? Transfer spells? What are you talking about?”

“Potter. Please try to pay attention. Memories of her father, remember? They’re a vital ingredient for the Childhood potion to give her a sense of the wizard. Do try to select the better memories, will you? I don’t think Jamie needs to remember her father’s death for example. You claim to have looked on him as a father, so those are the memories she’ll be needing to establish her sense of belonging in the Black line. Are you even listening Potter?”

“But…but…I thought we would just sit down and _talk_ about Sirius. I could tell her all about him and--”

“Please, Potter. How Muggle of you. How would such a conversation do anything but make her wish she could have known him. This way she _will_ know him.”

“Ron?” Potter looked at his friend pleadingly.

“That’s how they do it, mate. Um. You won’t get the memories back, you know.” Ron explained.

“Not get them--”

“They go in a potion, and they’ll be used to make vague memories of childhood for her, the childhood she would have had if the man in your memories had been that way towards _her_ all her life. She won’t really _remember_ , but she’ll feel like she’s known him as her father all her life. It makes her more like his proper daughter.” Ron explained.

“So…the actual memories…are they--”

“Destroyed.” Draco said firmly. “You won’t remember that those things occurred at all.”

“But we’ll share our memories of Sirius with you, Harry. Me, and Hermione, and I’m sure Professor Dumbledore could show you some good ones. Even Snape--”

“It’s not the same!” Harry burst out, turning on Draco in fury. “I can’t believe you think I’d actually give up all my memories of the man who was like my father, just like that!”

“Even for his daughter? His _real_ daughter, who would be getting to know her father now if he hadn’t lost his life on one of your little missions, Potter? You know, I suspect if Sirius hadn’t been so distracted with his best friend’s son, he might have spent that time looking into Ministry records of his case and found his daughter. You owe this to her, Potter.” Draco argued forcefully.

Potter looked at his best friend helplessly.

“I hate the ferret, mate. But he’s got a point. She’s his daughter,” the redhead shrugged.

Draco cheered inwardly as Potter’s face crumpled in defeat.

Sweet vengeance. And he had yet to even use the scroll in his pocket.

“I’ll send you the Pensieve by this weekend, Potter.”

Draco stalked back towards the dungeons, a smug look over his face.

Now to take a look at the latest addition to the scroll. Not that Potter’s half-blood lineage was any secret.

In his rooms, Draco took a deep breath and slid the scroll carefully open.

The picture of Potter was still trying to avoid coming too close to the surface of the portrait. Draco took a deep breath and tapped his wand on the sigil of the single red drop.

The portrait moved to the very bottom of the page, and a thin horizontal line extended itself just beneath the portrait.

So the conquering hero was still a virgin at the pathetic age of 16. Perhaps useful information could be gleaned from this first stage of the spell after all.

Draco watched fascinated as vines began to grow upwards from Potter’s portrait. Noted with interest Potter’s inheritance of an Invisibility Cloak and something called the Marauder’s Map, which was also linked to the Black coat of arms, as well as the printed names Lupin and Pettigrew.

Draco noted, unsurprised, as the name Gryffindor started appearing well up in the Potter line, on up to the Founder himself. He’d already observed this on James Potter’s scroll. But he _was_ surprised when, upon linking to Godric Gryffindor, a gold inheritance line started trickling its way down until it connected with Potter’s portrait, and a look at the symbol supplied him with it’s proper name.

~The Sword of Gryffindor~

A host of other symbols indicated various special boosts to Potter’s innate magical power.

“Merlin.”

The spell was by no means finished.

The relationship to Sirius Black, and formal declaration as his heir, was depicted by a hazy line leading to the Black coat of arms, with Sirius’ name below it, and a series of similarly shaded symbols appeared around Potter’s portrait. Draco knew without looking at them that they would represent innumerable magical heirlooms that by rights should be either his or Jamie’s.

Then something very strange happened. A green line started drawing itself, stretching away from Potter’s portrait. The picture of Potter eyed the green line warily, and Draco’s stomach rebelled as he recognized the particular shade of green.

“No…”

The green line ended in the familiar twisting symbol of a snake inside a skull. 

The Dark Mark.

Draco watched with dread as an entirely too realistic bolt of green light trickled back along the line and created a lightening-shaped symbol next to the portrait. The portrait shuddered and cringed away from that side of the scroll, holding a hand over his scar…blood leaking out between his fingers?

The Dark Mark had it’s own line stretching upwards, up through the Gaunts and into the Slytherins, up to Salazar himself. And a host of silver trickles cascading down to the Dark Lord and then to Potter. More symbols, in silver. Parseltongue, Legilmency, Possession, and a _lot_ of magical power. 

“Merlin! Potter _is_ Slytherin’s heir. Or his heir-apparent after the Dark Lord,” Draco realized. The git had the magical gifts of _two_ founders, and not only ruled the House of Black but was also the direct heir of the Dark Lord.

“I wonder if he even knows.”

Probably not. Dumbledore certainly wouldn’t have been one to tell him.

“I wonder if the Dark Lord even knows.”

Draco thought about it. Really no way to find out. At least, not using this spell.

At the very least, the tactical landscape was starting to look much more favorable to the Light than it ever had. Draco frowned. Thanks to his father, and for that matter, the last several Malfoys, the family was pretty firmly entrenched as Dark. What if that turned out to be the wrong side?

“What kind of condition are the boltholes in?” Draco suddenly queried.

_Two are in a state of disrepair. One was donated by the Lord Lucius Malfoy to his Dark Lord for use as a headquarters. The last is in pristine condition, well-stocked with supplies, and ready for use at any time._

“He _gave_ it to the Dark Lord?” Draco asked incredulously.

_Technically, the gift is only viable while he remains Lord. Now that you are Lord Malfoy, the Dark Lord and his followers remain there at your sufferance._

Draco thought about it. Best not to anger the Dark Lord at this point.

“I’ll ignore the situation for now. Tell me about the last bolthole.”

_It is in France, beneath Muggle Paris. Completely underground, but spells bring fresh breezes and scenic views from the Swiss Alps. Roughly half the size of the Manor grounds, and unplottable, protected by an overlapping series of modified Fidelius Charms, and Malfoy Manor is the Secret Keeper._

“I wasn’t aware you had a living soul.”

_It’s a modified Fidelius._

“Fine. See about making the other two boltholes operational. And begin transferring the more important heirlooms to the operational one. I’ll make sure the bulk of our assets are placed in the long-term protective vaults at Gringotts, as well.”

_As the Lord Malfoy wishes._


	5. Devil's Advocate

“It’s for the best, mate. You’ve been moping ever since he died, you know,” Ron Weasley was saying, “Thinking it’s all your fault. Maybe you’ll feel better when you don’t rememb--”

“Ron! How could you be so insensitive?” Granger rebuked him shrilly. “I don’t see how you can even suggest something like this!”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, ‘Mione! Hell, if even the ferret can see that you should be able to! She’s his daughter and never knew him, and Harry did even though he’s not really his son. It’s not fair to her, she’s a real Black! How would you like it if you were taken from your parents at birth and someone else replaced you?” Weasley argued.

“That’s beside the point.” Granger said dismissively, “Harry has just as much right to remember Sirius as his daughter. She never even knew him, it’s not like she missed him!”

There was a clatter as Potter slammed his fork to the table, knocking over his chair as he stood up rapidly. Blinking rapidly as he ran from the Great Hall.

“Now you’ve done it, ‘Mione. Don’t you think Harry misses his parents? He knows exactly what she’s missing.” Weasley growled, throwing down his own fork. “I’m going after him.”

“Wait.” Granger put a hand on his arm. “You’re right. That was the wrong thing to say. But Sirius was the closest thing to a family Harry’s ever had. It’s not right to make him give that up, even if it’s selfish. I won’t let you influence him when he’s like this.”

That was all Draco needed to hear. He ended the eavesdropping spell and smirked at Jamie, who was sitting beside him watching his facial expressions with interest.

“I think you’ll be getting your vaults back pretty soon now.”

“I would have gotten them on my own, anyway,” she said, annoyed.

“It would have taken longer, and in pieces. And Dumbledore would have interfered, made sure you didn’t get some of the more powerful heirlooms.” Draco told her. 

“I could have handled it,” Jamie sulked.

“I know you could have. You’re extremely clever, you had him wrapped around your finger from the minute he came over here at Sorting. And actually, you still do. So don’t waste it. Let me be the evil Malfoy bastard, I’m good at it. You’ll be able to pull on his Gryffindor sentimentality for something else. And this way, you’ll be doing him a favor by settling for the estate instead of what he thinks is really valuable.” Draco told her.

“It _is_ valuable,” Jamie told him. Draco frowned. “To Potter, I mean. It probably would be to me if I ever knew he’d existed before this. I know I wouldn’t give up memories of David and Jane for anything.”

Draco suppressed a moue of distaste at the mention of his cousin’s Muggle foster parents.

“Yes well, I suppose every artifact has its own range of subjective values, depending on the person. And Sirius Black has been a sore spot for Potter ever since he died. I think I’ll go on and push things a bit.”

Draco neatly folded his napkin and rose gracefully to his feet.

“If you will all excuse me, I have a Potter to torment.”

\-------

He caught up with Potter wandering one of the more isolated wings on the 7th floor.

“Escribamens Amicitia”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Potter asked tiredly.

“It’s been a week since I gave you the Pensieve.” Draco said neutrally, leaning against a wall. He carefully slipped the scroll back into his pocket, keeping his wand out but lowered.

“Malfoy I…I didn’t realize this was what you intended when you said I could help her get to know Sirius. I…I don’t think I can do it.”

“You don’t really have a choice.” Draco told him thoughtfully.

Potter frowned.

“What do you mean.”

“I took the trouble of looking it up to be sure. An exiled pureblood born to one of the Greater lines. Jamie has a right to her parentage. If Black were still in Azkaban I could bring suit on her behalf against the Ministry, for the privilege of his paternal attentions. They’d have to allow regular visits to ensure she was effectively brought up as a member of the Black family. 

“He’s dead. Your fault, I believe. All that’s left of his paternal attentions are the ones he squandered on _you_ , Potter. The ones you hold in your memories. She has a higher claim to them than you. Any pureblood would agree, including the ones on the Wizengamot. Just ask your friend Weasley. You have to give up the memories, give her her legacy as a Black.”

“I CANT, Malfoy! Damn you, I would but I just can’t do it.”

“You’ve already taken away her inheritance. Family vaults. Family heirlooms going back hundreds of generations. The family home.” Draco said flatly.

“I don’t care about those! I never wanted any of it! But I won’t give up the memories of the only father I ever knew!” Potter raged.

Draco tipped his head to the side.

“You owe them to her, you know. You should never have been Black’s heir. He’d have given everything to her, if he knew. The inheritance, all his attention, everything. He still would…if he were still alive.”

Potter closed his eyes, no doubt remembering how Sirius had died.

“She can have all that back. The inheritance, I mean. But I’m keeping the memories.”

“You have to—“

“Hermione told me the transference only works if it’s fully voluntary. I won’t do it.” Potter said evenly.

“The Wizengamot will order you to.”

“I’ll refuse.”

“You’ll go to Azka--”

“And take those memories with me.” Potter’s green eyes had a glint of steel in them now.

“Just the inheritance won’t be enough to make up for it.” Draco informed him.

“I know. Believe me I know. But it’s the best I can do.”

Draco paused a moment.

“I’ll let her know of your offer. She can still pursue the memories in court, inheritance or no.”

“She’ll never get them that way. But I’ll _share_ them, in a Penseive. And the Muggle way.” Harry told him.

Draco nodded slowly.

“I’ll tell her your… _offer_?”

He raised his wand in salute, an eyebrow raised questioningly. Harry waved his hand agreeably. Draco felt a tingle of magic.

“Placitum Perago” A chime sounded magically.

“Harry!” Weasley rounded the corner, Hermione right on his heels. He drew his wand when he saw Draco. “What’s going on!”

“Nothing, Ron.”

“He’s got his wand out.”

“Only Placitum Perago, Weasel. Not a hex.” Draco informed the Gryffindor.

“Harry. What did you agree to?” Weasley asked Potter seriously.

“I’m giving the Black estate to Jamie.” Potter said.

“The Black Estate! That’s a lot, mate.” Ron looked at his friend in shock.

“It should be hers rightfully.” Potter said.

“Harry! Placitum Perago makes a legally binding contract!” Granger scolded him.

Potter scowled at Draco, clearly not pleased at the magical sleight of hand. Then he shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter. I meant it anyway,” he turned and walked down the corridor away from Draco, the two sidekicks haranguing him as he went.

Draco spun and moved as quickly as he could towards the office of his Head of House.

He needed information, and he needed it now.

\- - - - -

“What now! Oh. What can I do for you, Draco?” Severus Snape answered the door pleasantly enough once he realized who was knocking.

“I need to talk to you about something important.”

His godfather raised an eyebrow and opened the door wider to let Draco in. He took his time composing himself in the straight-backed chair.

“Sir, is it possible to do wandless magic?”

Severus frowned, watching his godson carefully. Draco’s face would be expressionless to most anyone, but Severus had watched this boy closely since he had been born. Something was skittering behind the corners of the boy’s eyes, something somewhere between panic and disbelief.

“It is exceedingly rare. A child can perform it accidentally, as random discharges. After gaining a wand, however…the energy is channeled through the core and such random discharges only occur when an especially powerful wizard loses control of his magic. Very dangerous.” Severus told him carefully.

“What about focused wandless magic?” Draco pressed.

“Well. Magic is more or less loose energy unless it’s focused. That’s what the wand core does. There are examples of wizards and witches so immensely powerful that they themselves could be classified as a magical creature. Then, their own bones could replace the function of a wand core. Still very imprecise, you understand. Not nearly as good as a real wand. The Headmaster has done so, on a few occasions.”

“What about the Dark Lord?”

“He is nearly as powerful as the Headmaster, so it’s likely he can do at least some magic without a wand. I haven’t seen him demonstrate the ability, however.” Severus told him. “Now are you going to tell me what this is about or will I have to use Legilmency?”

“Potter accepted an agreement by waving his hand. I don’t think he even intended to do it. He was angry when he realized what Placitum Perago meant.”

Severus looked at him dumbfounded.

“The spell responded to _that_?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I look at the memory?”

Draco considered. Severus couldn’t know about the Escribamens he’d cast right before the incident.

“If you promise not to look at anything beyond the memory I show you.”

Severus studied him a moment.

“Very well, I’ll respect your secrets, Draco. Prepare yourself please.”

Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on the events starting only after he’d cast the Escribamens spell. He opened his eyes.

“Legilmens.”

_What do you want, Malfoy…_

\- - - - -

After the memory had played itself out Severus carefully extricated himself from Draco’s mind.

“You bargain well. And you’re right, it was wandless magic, focused. Clearly not overtly intentional. I doubt the boy even knows what he’s capable of.” Severus observed.

“Does this mean he’s as powerful as the Headmaster? As powerful as--” Draco trailed off.

“I’d say it means he has a great deal more _innate_ magic than either of them. Actual power is based on knowledge, however, and the boy is hopelessly ignorant.” Severus said carefully.

Draco looked at his godfather in disbelief. He knew Severus was an ardent supporter of the Dark Lord, for him to concede the Boy Who Lived might have more magic, could become more powerful…was Severus having second thoughts?

Severus seemed to read his mind.

“It’s perfectly understandable to have second thoughts, Draco. _If_ you should make a decision, it should be made wisely. You are Potter’s contemporary, you’ve essentially grown up together. And if he survives this war you will live your life feeling the atmosphere of his full potential power in the world. That can be a very good thing or a very bad thing. You have a very different set of choices than this old man.”

Draco stared. His godfather was hinting that he should consider…what? Joining the Light?

“At the same time, you should consider the, perhaps irreversible, effect of your relations with the boy thus far. Such an immensely powerful wizard is not an enemy one should permit to develop.” Severus backtracked smoothly.

“I’ll consider it, Sir. Thank you.” Draco said, standing to leave.

“Draco. Perhaps I am not the person most suited to give you… _unbiased_ guidance in this matter. But I would urge you to think carefully and avoid irreversible decisions. Particularly the risky ones.” Severus said, guiding him to the door.

\- - - - -

An hour later Draco was staring confusedly at the magically inscribed parchment. Harry Potter in the middle, his friends and allies, apparently grouped and ranked in order of importance: 

~Lily Potter~ (crossed out)  
~James Potter~ (crossed out)  
~Ronald Weasley~  
~Hermione Granger~  
~Sirius Black~ (crossed out)  
~Remus Lupin~

Below that group, in smaller print:

~Albus Dumbledore~  
~Severus Snape~

Followed by a diminishing list of names of members of several prominent Light families, several aurors, mudbloods, halfbloods, all well-known as strong Light supporters. No doubt, Draco was holding a membership list of the Order of the Phoenix.

And then there was listed in much smaller print, just about every member of Gryffindor House, several Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and not one Slytherin. 

And below that, in microscopic print, a seemingly endless list of, apparently, most of the wizarding world.

His enemies:

~Tom Riddle~

~Bellatrix Lestrange~  
~Lucius Malfoy~

Then a list of Death Eaters. No surprise there, except that Severus wasn’t listed among them. Strange.

Then his political adversaries:

~Cornelius Fudge~  
~Dolores Umbridge~  
~Percy Weasley~

Several other familiar Ministry names.

Then the personal enemies:

~Draco Malfoy~  
~Severus Snape~  
~Rita Skeeter~

In smaller script, most of the Slytherins were listed, along with a long collection of random wizards and witches Draco didn’t know, obviously the ones who didn’t like Potter and made it known to him, but didn’t much matter.

And slightly set off…

~Dudley Dursley~  
~Vernon Dursley~  
~Petunia Dursley~

Odd. He didn’t recognize any of those names. He concentrated on the one in the middle.

_”I’ll have none of your freakishness in my house, boy!” A monstrous tub of a man had a fistful of Potter’s shirt and was yelling into his face._

_Potter was silent, tight-lipped with anger and fear._

_“You keep your…thing…out of sight, you hear me boy? And you’re going to work, earn your keep for once this summer! Don’t think I didn’t hear about your murdering freak friend. He can’t protect you any more and by God we’re going to have a quiet, normal house this year without you to ruin it!”_

_“Yes, sir.” Harry said, eyes empty._

_The man, Potter’s uncle apparently, released him, looking disgusted._

_“To your room boy. And none of that witchcraft in this house.”_

_“Yes sir.”_

__

So. The Dursley’s must be Potter’s Muggle relatives. How the hell was Potter on the side of the Light, growing up with that?

Draco looked at the list. He was ranked rather lower than he’d expected, on the overall list of enemies. 

He was fairly certain Potter was at the top of what must be a rather extensive list on the same section of his own scroll. But to Potter, the enmity with Draco was…just a little harmless school rivalry, apparently. Barely more important than intra-familial tensions. Obviously, logically, quite insignificant next to the greater struggle of the war. 

But that low ranking irritated Draco to no end. Still, at least he was more important an enemy than Severus Snape.

And Severus! How could he be an ally _and_ an enemy at the same time?

I must be missing something, Draco thought.

He studied the list of friends again. There were clear groupings. Weasley, Granger, Black, and the werewolf were his core group of friends. Right in there with his family. So that’s how he looked at them, as surrogate family members. That made a twisted Potter-ish sort of sense.

Albus Dumbledore was his protector, his main support in the struggle against the Dark Lord. But Dumbledore was grouped with Severus which meant…

Draco slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

His godfather was a traitor. Severus was working for Dumbledore _against_ the Dark Lord, not the other way around!

Which explained the low rank Severus had in the enemies list. Right below Draco’s own position on the list. He may be on the Light side, and thus an ally to the Boy Who Lived, but was a personal foe of Harry James Potter.

His godfather’s carefully worded advice struck him.

_Such an immensely powerful wizard is not an enemy one should permit to develop._

Draco had taken it literally, as a precaution against allowing Potter to grow powerful enough to eventually take revenge for years of antagonism. But now the phrase had a backhanded double-meaning.

_You should consider the, perhaps irreversible, effects of your relations thus far._

Severus was telling him indirectly that he should try to reverse their present antagonism. But was that even possible?

_You have a very different set of choices than this old man._

Draco thought. The words were too well considered to be the result of only the revelation about wandless magic. Severus had to know something more. Dumbledore must have told him something. Or possibly even Potter himself. 

No, they were still personal enemies. Potter wouldn’t take the hated Potions Professor into his confidence.

Unless…the Manor had suggested that Potter was somehow an Occlumens…

Draco focused his attention on his godfather’s name in the “allies” list. The portrait of Potter suddenly changed, showing him in the very rooms Draco had just left an hour ago.

_“You’ll never succeed if you don’t concentrate, Potter. You haven’t been doing your exercises, have you?” Snape sneered down at the boy, who was lying dazed on the dungeon floor._

_“I can’t do it!”_

_“You’re just like your father. Lazy. Expect the world to be handed to you. Well I won’t. _Legilmens!_ ”_

_“Aaahh, get _OUT_!” _

_Potter’s face contorted in agony, then horror as Snape must have hit upon some particularly embarrassing memory._

Draco smirked as his godfather chuckled mockingly. He knew his godfather’s teaching style, but this was a rough Occulmency session even for him. Dumbledore must have ordered the lessons over his objections.

Now if only Draco could find out what all his mentor had discovered inside the Gryffindor’s thick skull. _Something_ made him think Draco still had a chance to switch sides, despite everything.


	6. Building Bridges

Draco knew he had some thinking to do. All his life, he’d been taught that the Dark Lord would one day return, and that Draco would one day take his father’s place as his right hand. Lucius had apparently believed the Dark Lord to be immortal, no doubt due to his own scrying. And he had been sure that the House of Malfoy would benefit from a close association with the powerful wizard.

But if Potter was _more_ powerful?

The Malfoys could be destroyed. After the debacle in the Department of Mysteries, Lucius was fully confirmed as a Death Eater, no Imperious defense this time, and an angry populace was crying out for the rest of the Malfoy blood. Or more specifically, the Malfoy gold.

Draco had no doubt there were plenty of grubby hands in the Ministry just itching for a chance at the vaults.

He was sure the Malfoy family could survive such a persecution, they had before. But…three generations holed away underground would mean inbreeding and dissociation from the Wizarding world – resulting in genetic weaknesses and a complete loss of political power.

The last time that had been necessary was after the second fall of Napoleon. Dark Lords seemed to have a confusing habit of having to be defeated more than once.

No. The Malfoys should be on the winning side. Even if that meant making nice to Potter.

Actually, Draco wasn’t all that fond of all the bowing and scraping that seemed to go on in Death Eater meetings. Or Cruciatus, for that matter.

But how to tell if Potter _really_ was more powerful? His father thought the Dark Lord was immortal…not much to be done against that, wandless magic or not.

Draco smirked. It was a bit out of date, but his father’s scroll on Tom Riddle was still sitting on a table in a certain sublevel. A simple comparison, and he’d have his answer.

And probably, maybe, try to repair a few bridges with Potter in the meantime. He could always burn them again later, if necessary.

And certainly, keep working to complete Potter’s scroll.

“Goyle.”

“Malfoy?” The boy looked up attentively. The Slytherin had been leaving Draco alone while he was brooding, now was time for action.

“Fetch my writing set from my room.”

Goyle moved to comply, and Draco composed the message in his head as he waited.

_To the Lord Harry Potter,_

_I’d like to thank you for your offer to help restore the Black heritage to my cousin Jaime. Having never met the late Sirius Black, I find myself at rather a loss trying to help her come to terms with her lost legacy._

_As we’ve discussed, I’m aware that you were very close to the man. I’d like to take you up on your offer to share your experiences with Jaime. I understand you value your time with Sirius Black too much to sacrifice them for a Childhood Potion. I expect that is evidence the memories were especially meaningful._

_Because these memories are so personal, I’ve decided that your offer to spend time conversing with Jaime about her late father has merit beyond simply a pensieve session. I believe a combination of the two methods may achieve an affect, not quite equal to a Childhood Potion, but better than either on it’s own._

_**To that end, on behalf of my cousin Jamina Lily Black, I’d like to request your presence at a dinner held at the Silver Wand in Hogsmeade, this Saturday Evening at 6 o’clock. Formal dress will be appropriate. I will, of course, secure any necessary permissions from the Headmaster.** _

_Répondez s'il-vous-plaît._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_The Lord Draco Malfoy_

Draco signed his name with a flourish, then placed the parchment in an envelope and sealed it with his ring. A quick charm insured anyone besides Potter who tried to break the seal would die painfully, then he handed it to Goyle.

“Give this to Helios…no, wait. Give that back.” Draco scowled. Better not to trust either the Muggleborn or the impulsive Weasley to observe proper protocols. He modified the charm to deliver a sharp jolt of pain to any unauthorized tamperer.

He paused, then added a variant of the Howler charm to the failsafe as well.

“There. _Now_ give it to Helios before dinner.”

Goyle gave a pathetic look, realizing the errand would make him late for dinner.

“What do you take me for? Your mother? Go on, the sooner it’s done the sooner you can join us. Zabini? Parkinson? Crabbe? Dinner.” Draco gathered his group together and swept off towards the Great Hall.

\- - - - -

The Great Hall was, as usual, intolerably noisy. The Ravenclaws that weren’t reading were having spirited debates, some individuals carrying on complex conversations with two or three adversaries, and managing to eat as well. The Gryffindors seemed torn between raucous laughter, loud bragging, and outrageous expostulating on the great battle against the Forces of Evil. And the Hufflepuffs…Draco turned his eyes away from that particular table, feeling his face go pale. Today the Hufflepuffs were all…cooing at each other. Like a gigantic orgy, only without the sex. 

Disgusting.

“Escribamens vis Vires” Draco incanted softly, as he passed by Potter’s spot.

Potter paused in the middle of a sentence, mouth…half-chewed contents lodged inside…hanging open for a moment as he pinned Draco with his green-eyed gaze. Then the moment passed and something the Weasel said got his attention again.

Trust the Weasel to be an effective decoy.

Draco seated himself at the Slytherin table, making room for Jaime at his side.

“I’ve arranged for us to meet Potter in Hogsmeade this weekend.” He told her.

“I can’t go, I’m a first-year.” Jaime said. “And why would we be meeting Potter?”

“So he can tell you about your father.” Draco told her. “And it’s family business. I’ll get you permission to go.”

Her eyes lit up with delight for a moment, before being expertly tempered to reserved approval.

“Really? I keep hearing it’s quite a nice town. Not as big as Diagon Alley, I suppose.”

“It’s nice enough. They have a lovely restaurant there, which we’ll be taking advantage of. I think it’s about time you were exposed to the sort of establishments a Black deserves.”

At that moment, Draco’s distinctive Eagle Owl glided into the Great Hall, circling momentarily before landing before a stunned Trio.

The room had hushed a bit at this unexpected sight. Clearly, the Malfoy owl. Clearly, delivering something to the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Don’t touch it Harry! I bet it’s a portkey!” Weasley warned.

Hermione cast a quick diagnostic spell.

“No…no portkey magic. It’s got some magic on it but they read as standard protocol charms.”

“I don’t trust the ferret, Harry.” Weasley was saying, grabbing the envelope from an outstretched talon. Helios nearly overbalanced, feathers ruffling as he flapped his wings in protest of the rough treatment.

Draco wished he hadn’t changed the charm.

“IMPOSTER! UPSTART! SCANDALOUS LITTLE PRYING BUSYBODY! INSIGNIFICANT, SIXTH-BORN PAUPER CHILD!” The pompous bellow reverberated throughout the hall as Weasley snatched his shocked hand away.

“RETURN THIS PARCEL TO ITS RIGHTFUL LORD IMMEDIATELY, YOU DESPICABLE THIEF! HOW DARE YOU TAMPER WITH MATTERS ABOVE YOUR STATION!”

“Take it, Harry! For Merlin’s sake, take the thing so it’ll shut up!” Weasley begged, his face crimson.

The charm cut off abruptly as soon as Potter’s hand touched the envelope.

“ _Honestly_ , Ron. I _said_ it had standard protocol charms on it. And it was from Malfoy, it could have been a lot worse. Don’t you ever even think first?” Granger chided.

“Guys…”

“You were going to open it yourself, ‘Mione. I saw you reaching for it.”

“Uh…guys…”

“I was trying to stop _you_ from reaching for it. _Honestly_ , Ronald, I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.”

“Guys!”

“What, Harry?”

“I’m…I’m…”

Potter looked like he was about to faint.

“What, Harry? Pregnant? A veela? Voldemort’s long-lost twin?” Weasley badgered impatiently.

“Invited to dinner with…Malfoy!” Granger read over Potter’s shoulder.

“Good one, ‘Mione. Or, Trelawny’s secret love-child, and he’s having a vision! Or he’s from the future! Or- OW!”

“Or, maybe, he’s _invited to dinner, with Malfoy_.” Granger growled, pointing at the letter.

Ron stared at it.

“Merlin.” He wheezed.

“Yeah.” Harry said, looking dazed.

The three pairs of eyes swiveled to take, what Draco was sure they must have thought was a surreptitious look at the Slytherin table. Draco made a point to sneer back at them. They quickly averted their eyes and went into a huddle, whispering furiously…then gradually growing louder…

Draco rolled his eyes. Gryffindors. About as secretive as a flight of dragons.

“I think you should go.” Granger said with a decidedly final air.

“But ‘Mione, it’s obviously a trap!” Weasley whined.

“Hush, Ronald. I’m sure he has some ulterior motive, but we won’t find out what it is unless Harry goes there. I’m sure even Malfoy won’t try to kill him right in public, and in front of a first-year.”

“A _Slytherin_ first year, ‘Mione. You never know, with them it could be some kind of initiation.”

“I’m going.” Potter decided, cutting the both of them off.

“But-”

“Look, I know Malfoy will be there. But so will Jamie. I really want to meet her properly, even spend time with her. She…she’s Sirius’ daughter, Ron. I _have_ to go.”

Weasley looked defeated.

“Fine. But…be careful, mate. Okay? Don’t let him alone with your food, right?”

Potter smiled at him.

“I’ll be careful.”

Harry suddenly seemed to notice the entire Hall was looking at him and blushed crimson, turning his attention to his plate. In moments, the Ravenclaws resumed their debates, the Gryffindors their boasting, and the Hufflepuffs their…cooing.

The Slytherins, of course, were all having their very discreet conversations: passing veiled threats, probing mutual weaknesses, and carefully keeping an eye on Draco, wondering what kind of devious plot their Prince could be hatching this time.

Draco just smirked evilly, sparing a wink for Jaime, and putting one hand in his pocket to check on the scroll there.

\- - - - -

The scroll unfurled smoothly, flattening itself as new magical scrolls are wont to do.

The portrait of Harry Potter was in the center, the weird electric light still wrapped around him, only now looking like some mantle of hidden power.

“I guess we’ll see now, where your strength really lies, Potter.” Draco murmured, tapping his wand to the newly created icon.

For a moment nothing happened.

Then, a series of portraits popped up, like countless spots, replaying important memories…the moments that best defined the sources of Potter’s strength.

A beautiful red-haired woman with Potter’s same green eyes, flashing protectively as she shielded him from someone.

_“Not Harry! Please, no, take me, kill me instead!”_

That must have been Potter’s mother, on the night that made him famous.

Draco next noticed a very young version of the Weasley…riding what looked to be a stone horse.

_“It’s the only way. I’ve got to be taken.”_

_“NO!”_

_“That’s chess! You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward, and she’ll take me. That leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry.”_

Then an equally youthful Granger, frizzy hair half in her face, bent over a cauldron in…a bathroom?

_“I’ve been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It’s ready.”_

Lacewing? But…surely not…she couldn’t have been more than a first or second year, maybe third! Polyjuice was a NEWT potion!

The bubbling, muddy mixture in the cauldron seemed pretty obvious, though.

Draco made a note to brew Polyjuice himself, as soon as possible.

Then…Sirius Black himself…

_“Come on, you can do better than that!”_

_Bellatrix’s face twisted, and red light speared out, hitting Black in the chest. Her vicious laughter ringing out as he fell, as if in slow motion, through the Veil…_

Merlin. His aunt was insane. And scary.

He surveyed the rest of the spots. A multitude of moments, and all of them seemed to be people. People…doing what? Dying for Potter? No, only a few of those. What then? Maybe, being willing to? But Granger didn’t show that…but she certainly had to work hard to brew Polyjuice Potion at that age.

Draco thought a moment. Obviously, Potter drew his strength from the people around him. People he was close to. Which explained why he’d been so angry at the suggestion of donating his memories of Sirius.

What a strange place to draw memories from. People died. Or worse, betrayed you. Better to choose something immovable to draw from. Like an idea. Or the past.

Draco thought of his long line of ancestors, the pride of the Malfoy legacy stretching back eons. Nothing that happened now could undo that long history.

Much smarter.

Draco wondered if the chart of Potter’s weaknesses would be an exact replica of the one of his strengths?

The Dark Lord seemed to think so, when he killed off Potter’s ally in the Triwizard Tournament. Potter blamed himself for Diggory’s death even now. And now Sirius Black. If the Dark Lord got his hands on Weasley or the Muggleborn…

Draco shook his head, rolling up the scroll. Some questions would take time to answer. He wouldn’t make himself Potter’s advisor just yet. If he chose to change sides, the time for curative analysis would come. And if he didn’t…

Draco pondered, wondering whether he had it in him to speak a death sentence in the Dark Lord’s ear.


	7. Dinner with the Blacks

“You’re late, Potter.” Draco said, not bothering to look up from the menu in his hands.

“Sorry, ‘Mione just wouldn’t give up on my hair.” Potter gasped, sliding into the seat across from Draco.

Draco looked up, and was thankful for the menu half-covering his face. He was sure his impassive expression had faltered for at least a second.

Potter looked…well… _good_. Or at least respectable.

The gaudy Gryffindor colors had been muted down quite nicely. A very tasteful deep wine-colored vest was visible under his black formal robes. Draco decided to ignore the way the color accentuated the flush in Potter’s cheeks for now. Also, a discreet flash of gold jewelry at the neck…an elegant-looking lion pin. 

Draco frowned as he noticed the lion didn’t seem to move. Muggle.

Oh well, one couldn’t expect the Boy Who Lived to gain fashion sense all in one day.

As it was, aside from the controversial pin…and the unfortunate _hair_ \- bushy and wild and far too short for his position (though the Potters had always despised that particular tradition), Potter looked every inch the conservatively dressed young Lord. 

Reasonably good-looking, even. 

_If_ Draco chose to be generous.

And tonight he was definitely being generous, he reminded himself.

And in keeping with that determination, Potter showing up looking suddenly respectable brought on a topic Draco knew would have the advantage of putting the Gryffindor entirely off-balance, and at the same time serve as an obvious offer of peace.

“Why Potter, who would have known that you could clean up so nicely.” Draco greeted him warmly.

Potter looked up at him quickly, shocked by the complete lack of sarcasm in his voice.

The light flush in his cheeks darkened and spread slightly.

“Uh. Thanks. Malfoy. You look good too.” Potter said awkwardly. Through force of will, Draco managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes at Potter’s statement of the blatantly obvious. 

Potter’s eyes dragged over to Jamie and he smiled a bit less awkwardly. 

“You too, Jamie. You look beautiful. Um…wow. You have Sirius’s eyes, you know.”

“I…I do?” Jamie said, her voice trembling a bit. Draco looked down at her and caught her widening her eyes expressively, a lower lip trembling just slightly.

Good grief. Draco turned his eyes back to Potter and found him just _completely_ eating it up. His face was pathetically earnest, his eyes soft and liquid as they gazed dreamily at his former godfather’s daughter.

Draco offered a quick prayer to Merlin to save him from sentimental, well-meaning-idiot Gryffindors.

Only one way to put this on footing he was well-equipped to handle.

Draco put his mind back to his original strategy. Get Potter off-balance, before he started transfiguring tableware into little red teddy-bears that sang soulful songs about lost loved ones or something.

Ah yes. That topic.

“I hadn’t planned to broach this subject with you Potter, at least, not until you had matured into your position a bit more.” Draco said calmly.

Potter tore his eyes from Jamie’s face reluctantly.

“My…position?”

“Lord Potter, and…more relevantly, Lord Black.” Draco said.

“Oh. I…I’d rather be just Harry.” Potter said uncomfortably.

“Exactly. But today you actually look quite respectable. I’m shocked to find out you are actually quite capable of dressing yourself. Perhaps you’d find yourself ready to handle some of the more important family business this evening?” Draco asked politely.

“Um. Well actually, Hermione made me buy new clothes.” Potter muttered.

Jamie giggled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I thought we were already handling family business.”

“No, I mean _important_ family business. Contracts and such.”

“We already did a contract.” Potter said sourly, no doubt remembering Draco’s underhanded use of Placito Perago in the school halls.

“Not that kind of contract. This is something a bit more important than _material_ inheritances.” Draco told him.

Potter looked at him, confused.

“I…what other sort of inheritances could we make a contract about?”

“Well, right now I’m concerned that the current Lord of Black has none of the family blood in his veins.” Draco told him.

Potter looked even more confused.

“Well…I know you’re really big on pure blood, Malfoy. But I don’t agree with that. Blood isn’t that important you know.”

“Even you can’t deny blood-relation matters when you’re talking about old _family_ legacies, Potter.”

“Oh!” Potter’s face suddenly lit up with realization. “Yeah I guess I understand what you’re saying. People tell me I look just like my father. I guess that must be important with old, really famous families like this, and-”

Draco slapped the table to interrupt Potter’s blathering.

“Magic, Potter!”

“Huh?”

“Magic! You have none of the Black blood, so you have none of the Black magical traits! You are a Lord Black and you can’t handle the ancestral magics _because you are not significantly related to the Black ancestors_!” Draco hissed at him angrily. How could he not even know these things?

“Oh.” Potter seemed to become somehow smaller in his chair.

Raised by Muggles, Draco reminded himself. Immensely powerful wizard, but raised by stupid Muggles. Of course he knows nothing of any of this.

“My mother, or Bellatrix, or Jaime, or I, can’t handle the ancestral magics either, because only _you_ are the Lord Black.” Draco explained more quietly.

“Oh.” Potter said.

“So for this generation, at least, the House of Black is…crippled. Have you been to Gr-, Grim, Gr-, what the hell?”

Draco paused. He _knew_ the name of the ancestral house of Black, but couldn’t quite recall it. He didn’t think he’d been Obliviated recently. Which left one explanation.

“Fidelius.”

Potter nodded.

Draco sighed.

“I suppose Dumbledore is using it for something and is protecting it his own way. That should be completely unnecessary. An ancient pureblood family home…is virtually unassailable. If the Lord of the Manor is managing it properly, that is.”

“I didn’t know that.” Potter said, curiously.

“Well, it's Sirius' fault, already signed and sealed. There’s no way to fix it in this generation.”

“I could transfer the title to Jamie.”

“A female Lord?” Draco actually laughed out loud. 

“Why not a Lady?” 

“Granger been sinking her hooks into you, Potter? The old magic isn’t really up-to-date with the latest feminist propaganda, it really wouldn’t work with a girl. And even if you were willing to transfer the title to _me_ , which I very much doubt, it wouldn’t work. Titles are inherited. Not transferred. Otherwise there’d be no end of jealous brothers and cousins trying to extort themselves into Lordship. It’s quite enough to have them trying to kill you, I think. Plenty of familial magic that will take vengeance for that.”

“Oh.” Potter said again.

“There’s really only one way to fix it. For the future, of course. You’ll have to produce the next Black heir, and we’ll have to make sure _he_ has Black blood running through his veins.”

“Wait…what are you-”

“Jamie, how do you like Potter?” Draco cut him off, turning to his cousin with an eyebrow raised.

This time the girl was quite genuine as she burned red and acted flustered.

“I…he…he seems nice. But Draco-”

“Good. And Potter, Jamie is very pretty, will no doubt be beautiful…she _is_ a Black after all. You’ve seen my mother. And highly intelligent. And she’s even from a similar upbringing to your own, I’m sure you’ll have quite a lot in common. What do you say?” Draco said briskly.

“But Draco-” Jamie protested. Draco waved her off with a commanding downward gesture of his hand.

Potter just sat there like an acromantula caught in it’s own web, eyes impossibly huge as he stared from Draco to Jamie, the flush from earlier returning, spilling down over his jaw to cover his neck with a brilliant blazing red. 

Draco just waited expectantly.

“That’s, that’s _crazy_ Malfoy!” Potter finally croaked.

“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I said it’s crazy! _You’re_ crazy! First you’re talking about stealing my memories of Sirius, and now you’re trying to _engage_ me to a…a…a _first_ year?”

“It’s a fairly common practice Potter. You have the Black title, and no Black blood. That has very bad magical consequences for the House of Black. There’s really only one way to fix it. I have it on good authority that you despise my Aunt. Unless you’re harboring some secret plot to steal my mother while Father is in Azkaban, Jamie is really your best candidate.”

“Your _mother_ -” Potter sputtered, his face now an interesting shade resembling a cherry.

“Or perhaps you’d prefer _me_ , Potter. Is that the problem?” Draco asked sweetly.

“That wouldn’t even work, Malfoy!” Potter continued to sputter.

“Of course it would! The Blacks can most certainly afford a pregnancy potion! Mind you, _I_ would most certainly not be carrying it.” Draco sniffed. “Not that that’s likely to happen anyways. Considering…well… _me_ …and, well…you being _you_ and all.”

This time both Potter _and_ Jamie were looking at him in shock.

“Are you serious?”

This time Draco _did_ roll his eyes.

“Muggles,” he muttered, disgusted. “Ask your Mu-…ask Granger, I’m sure she can tell you all about the facts of life. After she gets her hands on the appropriate book, of course.” Draco sneered.

“Hey!”

“In any case, I really don’t think it’s relevant. We need to start negotiating a marriage contract now. For heaven’s sake Potter, you’re nearly an adult, this needs to be settled before you start getting _other_ proposals.”

Potter just had that same frozen acromantula look on his face again.

“I…I just wanted to meet to tell Jamie about Sirius.” He said in a small voice.

“Well, you’ve gone to school with me for nearly six years, you should know I’d have a more complex agenda than that.” Draco said, feeling insulted.

“Draco…I guess this is what you do in the wizarding world. But I was raised by Muggles too.” Jamie reminded him quietly.

Draco looked at her. The girl’s face was quite white, and she was carefully avoiding any sort of eye-contact with Potter.

Draco sighed.

“I’m sorry Jamie. I suppose I shouldn’t have tried to open negotiations right in front of you like that. It was indiscreet of me.”

“Indiscreet? In front of me!?” Jamie glared at him.

Draco drew back a bit at her sudden hostility. Blacks were known to tend towards mental instability, though Jamie was a bit young to be manifesting _that_ just yet.

“In the Muggle world, people grow up, and then _choose_ who they would like to marry. On their _own_.” Potter informed him icily.

“But...fine, I suppose if they wait until they are old enough to be trusted with that. So I suppose Jamie wouldn’t want a contract, then. But what about you, Potter. You’re grown. I’m sure you can see this is a wise mixture for your seed. It’s really the only way to honor Sirius, as well. Would you be willing to agree to your side of the contract, and wait until Jamie grows old enough to…eh… _choose_ for herself?” Draco asked reasonably. “The dowry would, of course, reflect the value of your patience.”

Potter stood up, outrage all over his face.

“What? Breeding? No, you don’t get it, Malfoy. Muggles don’t _breed_ , and neither do _I_. If I get married, it will be because I’m in _love_ with someone _special_ , not to find ‘a wise mixture for my seed’! That’s…that’s just horrible and…and _gross_!” Potter ranted passionately.

Malfoy just sat, watching him as he finished his rant and sat back down. He let the silence stretch for a long moment, then spoke.

“Magic is not something that can flourish in the wild. You get new seedlings, yes. New wizards and witches that spring up out of the jungle, like your friend Granger. All promising, all new. If cultivated, carefully, within the wizarding world, _for several generations_ , they can become incredibly strong. That means, _yes_ , breeding. Breeding is like the difference between wild magic and having a wand and spells. Over generations, magical traits are reinforced, made stronger, and the ancestral stores of magic are added to with each new magical birth, until they form a reservoir of magic that is unique and intelligent and _immensely_ powerful. If the breeding fails - _one_ bad link in the chain of generations can utterly cripple that magic forever.”

Draco stood gracefully from his seat, rounding the table to stand right in front of Potter.

“Your parent’s generation _nearly_ was that bad link for your line. If _you_ had died, on the same night as your parents, there would be no more Potter blood. The Potter magic would slowly go insane, isolated in the ruins of Godrics Hollow, and over time grow malignant and bitter, and the area would become a nursing ground for Dementors and other Dark Things. The Black magic, Sirius refused to touch while he was alive, and it’s been doing the same. Tell me, does old Kreacher act a bit _off_ these days? Does the house make hateful noises at night? That line has been isolated before, it’s why Blacks tend to go insane, and it’ll go down that path twice as fast a second time if it’s not reunited with a proper blooded Lord soon.”

Potter’s arms were folded.

“Then why the hell did Sirius give it to me?”

Draco crossed his own arms.

“Either he assumed your line and one of the other branches of Black would merge, or he just didn’t care as long as _I_ didn’t get it. You can’t deny, Sirius Black was the type to A.K. a fly perched on his own nose, if he got mad enough.”

“Cut off his nose to spite his face.” Potter said, suddenly.

Jamie giggled.

Draco frowned, second time tonight. He’d have to train her to suppress that reaction.

“What?”

“Cut his nose off to spite his face. Or…A.K. a fly on his own nose.” Potter smirked.

Draco considered.

“I suppose it’s the same sort of thing. Only…hopelessly disgusting. Only a Muggle would think of carving their own flesh like that.” Draco shuddered.

“Look. I’ll think about what you said. I don’t think I’m going to end up marrying Jamie. But if it’s that important, I know Muggles have ways of making a baby without having…uh…well you know. Without marrying and…stuff.” Harry blushed again.

“A bastard child?” Draco asked, horrified.

“You’re the one concerned about blood.” Potter shrugged, sitting down.

Draco suddenly felt foolish standing there next to the sitting boy. He walked back and resumed his own seat.

“That is _not_ acceptable.”

“Will it interfere with the magic?”

“No.”

“Then it’s acceptable. It’s just not what Pureblood Wizards _do_. Arranged marriages aren’t what Muggle-raised wizards and witches do, at least not this one, and probably not Jamie either.”

Jamie nodded emphatically.

“So. This is the best you’re going to get from me.” Potter said simply.

Draco stared at him. The boy was daft. A bastard Lord of Black? He had no idea what he was saying.

But Potter was, if nothing else, notoriously stubborn. He’d have to work on him some more later. For now, he inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the standoff.

“We’ll be discussing this more, later. Let’s talk about Black, now.”

Potter’s tense face relaxed, and his eyes lit up as he turned to Jamie and started narrating some wild adventure with Padfoot and Moony.

Draco watched the two interacting. They _did_ seem to get along well, Potter’s eyes flashed as he recounted some particularly wild prank, and Jamie’s captivated grin was, in Draco’s calculation, quite genuine. Give it a few years, perhaps the “big-brother” tone Potter was taking now would turn into that “love” he had been going on about.

Suppressing a snort, Draco took their distraction as the opportunity he needed. Placing a hand on the scroll in his pocket, he held his wand carefully in his lap, pointed at Potter under the table.

“Escribamens Fragilitas” he whispered.


	8. Clever Quidditch

The newest section of the scroll was not what Draco was expecting.

On the left side was a stylized logo of a charging lion, surrounded by small portraits of individuals. The other two members of the Golden Trio, of course. The werewolf. The rest of the Weasley brood. Dumbledore. And an uncountable number of much tinier portraits. No doubt, Potter would jump to save anybody he’d ever met, without thinking first.

No, that side wasn’t a mystery.

Nor was the center. A large lightning bolt, stretching from a Dark Mark at the top of the parchment, down to the portrait of Potter at the bottom. His connection with the Dark Lord was a point of vulnerability then, along with his protective heroic streak.

But it was the right side of the page that confused Draco. It was…his own portrait, showing various scenes of his own face, no doubt directly gleaned from Potter’s memories of their many less-than-friendly interactions.

Draco observed himself as his lip lifted in a sneer. Definitely himself. How could he be Potter’s weakness?

Draco watched a scene play itself out, himself in all his splendor, sneering and saying something witty to Potter and his friends, Granger’s lips thinning in displeasure, Weasley’s face turning purple and Potter standing there, fists clenched at his sides, hair standing on end…odd…how did Draco never notice that Potter generated energy when he was angry before?

Then Draco’s graceful exit and Potter standing there, trembling with some strange energetic rage.

‘I suppose I do know how to push all his buttons. I most likely knew him better than those other two, even before I started building the scroll.’ Draco mused.

Was that it? Draco was just someone who could make Potter react, without fail? The person who could ‘get to him?’

Draco was no fool. Being that much of a weakness was in itself a power. A power over Potter, to manipulate him. If he was clever enough he could make the Boy Who Lived Dance not _to_ his tune, but in reaction to it.

And _that_ could be as useful as an Imperious curse.

Though…if Draco was _that_ important, why was his name so far down on the list of enemies?

Draco shrugged and rolled up the parchment.

At least he had his strategy for the upcoming Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match.

 

\- - - - -

 

“I want every bludger on the Weasleys. Take turns concentrating on them.”

“But I thought you said Potter was supposed to be our target this game!” Goyle asked, confused.

“I changed my mind.”

“But you said the Seeker was the key to the game, that their offense was shite, and if we just take out Potter we can run up the score until you catch the snitch.”

“The Seeker is the key to the game. But his friends are the key to that particular Seeker.” Draco explained.

“I don’t-”

“Look. Potter’s not going to be looking for the Snitch if his friends are nearly getting injured every five seconds. If you aim Bludgers at Potter, he just dodges them and barely notices. Aim them at the Weasel and the Weaslette, you’ll get his attention.”

“Uh-”

“Look. Have I ever given you bad advice?”

“Well, in first year-”

“It was a rhetorical question. Just aim for red hair, can you manage that?”

“Red hair. Yeah.”

Draco hid his exasperation with years of experience, and turned to his chasers.

“You heard the strategy. Take advantage of their Keeper and Chaser having to fly for their lives, yeah? Run up the score.”

“Got it Malfoy. You just try to catch the Snitch for once, yeah?”

“What was that, Nott?” Draco asked dangerously.

Nott looked at the ground, abashed.

“Nothing important.”

“Good.”

 

\- - - - -

 

“Ready to lose, Potter?” Draco sneered at the boy. Somehow the words were falling flat of their usual witty sharpness lately.

Potter turned to him, face flushed with excitement, green eyes sparking at the challenge.

“You haven’t beat me yet Malfoy, try to keep up with the statistics, yeah?”

“Luck, Potter. You’ve got it in spades. It’ll run out eventually, I’ll take centuries of breeding and a lifetime of the best lessons money can buy over your cheap luck any day!” Draco snarled.

“Keep telling yourself that, Malfoy. Maybe it’ll happen one day in your dreams.” Potter snapped back.

“Or maybe, this afternoon, hey Potter?”

Draco smirked as Potter gave him the finger.

 

Ten minutes later Draco was sweating into the wind as he ran a pattern in the air. 

Potter was furious, it hadn’t taken him long to notice Draco sniggering whenever Potter would swerve away from his search pattern to call out a warning to one of his fiery-haired friends.

Now he was dogging Draco’s heels relentlessly, and he wasn’t being a gentleman about it anymore.

Draco was hoping fervently for the Snitch, before Potter put him in the hospital.

“Call them off, Malfoy! That’s underhanded even for you!” 

Potter did some kind of impossible mid-loop twist that let him suddenly cut right in front of Draco, the nose of his broom rapping across Draco’s knuckles, his thigh slamming into Draco’s shoulder and sending him careening off to the left.

“Fuck off, Potter. It’s a legitimate strategy and you know it. Unlike _that_ little stunt!” Draco shouted, frantically regaining control of his broom.

Potter was bearing down on him again.

“They’ve almost killed them, twice over, damn you!

Draco veered off to avoid another collision, leaning close to his broom to increase the speed. He had to put some distance between them or Potter was going to land them both in St. Mungos for a week.

“ _Almost_ , Potter! Bludgers don’t kill and you know it! Beaters are _supposed_ to almost kill the other team, it keeps them on their toes!”

Potter was gaining. Draco cursed his father for not buying him a better broom to match Potter’s Firebolt, then remembered he could have rectified the situation himself before the game.

Potter drew level with him, one hand reaching out to grab at Draco’s robes. 

“Call them off!”

“Make me, Scarhead!”

“Fuck- RON! Lookout!” Potter’s attention was drawn to the Gryffindor Keeper, who had suddenly been targeted by both Slytherin beaters, and was frantically trying to shake the well-aimed Bludgers they’d set on him.

Draco dove, taking the distraction as an opportunity to shake the insane Seeker off, but Potter simply inverted on his own broom, flying upside down and backwards, a handful of Draco’s front in his fist holding Draco’s face inches from his own.

“I know what you’re doing, Malfoy! You’re distracting me by threatening my friends. And it. Pisses. Me. OFF!” Potter hissed into his face, spittle spraying into his eyes.

Draco couldn’t see the ground rushing up towards him, Potter’s face was entirely covering his field of vision. How much more time to pull out of the dive…?

“It’s fucking Quidditch, Potter! Beaters are _supposed_ to distract you! Now let go of me!” Draco was trying to pull out of the dive but Potter was holding him fast.

“POTTER! NOW!” Draco screamed, panicked. A strange look flickered over Potter’s face, and his head turned to the side to catch sight of the grounds leaping towards them…and a brief flicker of gold…and Draco was suddenly flung out of his dive, Potter in the other direction, leaping like a madman off his broom.

Draco lost hold of his broom, and tucked himself into a ball just before slamming into the pitch, tumbling over a ground that felt like a stone staircase.

The stands erupted in a deafening roar as Draco shakily pulled himself into a sitting position…just in time to see Potter’s face flushed with victory and hear “…AND HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THS SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

The entire Gryffindor team and two thirds of the crowd spilled towards Potter like a wild mob, but Draco beat them to him.

One solid punch to the nose sent the boy hero reeling backwards, a satisfying fountain of blood spurting outwards as he fell. Draco was on him, following him to the ground in a tackle.

“You’re fucking insane! You could have killed me you stupid crazy Gryffindor!” Draco heard himself screaming as he grabbed Potter around the throat and slammed his head into the grass.

“Petrificus Totalis!” Draco froze in position and toppled to the side. Potter leaped up, about to tackle him when an Impedimentia curse hit him.

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter! I am shocked at your behavior!” Professor Snape stormed up and grabbed Potter by the collar.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for endangering of a fellow student! And you both have detention with me _all_ day tomorrow for fighting! You’ll report to my office at dawn tomorrow. Now you!” Snape shook Potter. “Get out of my sight!”

Potter scrambled to his crowd of friends, looking backwards at Draco with an odd expression.

“Finite. Now Mr. Malfoy, I’m sure you know that resorting to physical violence is not an appropriate way for a Lord of Malfoy to behave. Particularly in public. Would you care to explain yourself?”

Draco rubbed his neck, which had been frozen in an awkward position.

“Potter very nearly killed me, sir. I expect if he hadn’t spotted the Snitch at that moment, he would have dashed us both to the pitch at that speed. He is insane sir, he shouldn’t be flying.”

Professor Snape sneered mockingly.

“And I’m sure Mr. and Miss Weasley’s condition has nothing to do with that?”

Draco was silent.

“You know as well as I, Potter will never be punished for what happens during a Quidditch game. And you _should_ be observant enough to know how Potter will react when one of his precious friends is threatened.”

“Like a raging lion.” Draco mused.

“What?”

“He gets mad and tries to protect them.”

“In the most self-destructive manner possible, yes, exactly.” Snape said dourly. “Unfortunately he is also very lucky, which means he not only comes out intact, but his enemies come out of it with a double measure of pain.”

“Gryffindor’s Luck.” Draco muttered, thinking of Potter’s bloodline.

“What?”

“Nothing. You make it sound like it’s better not to be Potter’s enemy.”

Professor Snape stiffened.

“I said no such thing.” He denied, carefully.

Draco narrowed his eyes at his professor.

“You know something I don’t know.”

“I know many things you don’t know.” His mentor said scornfully.

“About Potter. You know something about Potter. Something important. Something that would be helpful to _me_.”

“You’re hexing at shadows.”

“You’re teaching him Occlumency.”

Snape’s head snapped around at that, black eyes drilling into Draco.

Draco smiled his coldest smile, concentrating on the impenetrable wall of a glacier he’d seen on vacation two summers ago.

“If Potter is an Occlumens…” the professor said slowly.

“Potter is an Occlumens.” Draco bit out.

“Then Dumbledore must have taught him.”

“I think you taught him. You’re Dumbledore’s spy against the Dark Lord. You’re a traitor.”

Snape chuckled disparagingly.

“ _Me_? Work for that meddlesome old fool? I suggest you spend more time on your books and less time concocting foolishly elaborate conspiracy theories.” Snape sneered.

For a moment Draco doubted himself.

Then he remembered the list, and the Occlumency session he’d observed in Potter’s memories.

“You’re teaching him Occlumency. And I’m pretty sure the Dark Lord doesn’t know it. You’re Dumbledore’s spy.” Draco said, stating it as a positive fact.

Snape looked at him, hard.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“That would be a secret between my father and myself.” Draco told him confidently.

Snape paused, considering the possibility that Lucius Malfoy knew of his duplicity.

“And you’ve left me enough hints, as well. In your ‘ _advice._ ’” Draco sneered.

“I’ve done my best to help you make a well-considered decision. The Dark Lord doesn’t need recruits who don’t realize what they’re-”

“Is that what you were? A recruit that didn’t know what you were getting into? Didn’t think it through? So then when you found out you ran to the old fool? Is that it?” Draco pressed.

“I did _not_ run to that old fool!” Snape snapped. “You’re throwing about accusations you have no conception of, and-”

“You want me to choose the Light. You don’t want me to take His Mark. You think I can still make things good with Potter. I can’t make a well-considered decision if I do not have every relevant fact at my disposal. _You know something_ , and I want it. I’ll know it, or you’ll be my gift to the Dark Lord when I join him.”

“You wouldn’t last a week in the Death Eaters.” Snape sneered down at him.

“You will. You _know_ the Dark Lord will make it last for weeks, months.” Draco sneered right back. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

“Malfoy! That was excellent! Did you see him bleeding? What made you think to strike him physically? Is Potter in trouble for trying to kill you?” Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were suddenly at his side, bursting with questions.

“Think about it, _Professor_.” Draco said, spinning to walk towards the hospital wing with his friends.

 

\- - - - -

 

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

The two of them sat tensely, waiting for Madame Pomfrey to return with their potions. Potter had a large handkerchief clamped around his nose with one hand, covering most of his face. What Draco could see was bruised up. Pomfrey had said Draco had three bruised ribs and one of his knuckle joints had dislocated with that first punch.

There was a long silence, broken only by Potter’s labored breathing through the handkerchief.

Finally Potter broke the silence.

“Nife pfunch, Malfoy.”

Draco stared at him.

“What?”

Potter shifted the handkerchief slightly so he could speak.

“I said nice punch.”

“Right.” Draco paused a moment, not sure what to say. Potter had _never_ complimented him before.

“Nice catch, Potter.” He said, grudgingly. It had been a nice catch. The idiot had jumped off his broom mid-dive, right before hitting the ground, to snag the thing.

Now it was Potter’s turn to stare at Draco in shocked awkward silence.

“You’re still completely insane, though.” Draco qualified.

“Um. I’m sorry I almost killed you.”

Draco stared at him.

“You’re _sorry_? For almost killing me?”

Potter nodded.

“Well. That’s certainly rich. I think you can keep your ‘I’m sorry’ and instead just stay the fuck away from me. Malfoys are typically very long-lived, and I’m quite happy with that.” Draco said coldly.

“Look. You were the one who got your beaters trying to kill my friends. I was mad, alright? It’s not like I started things, you know.” Potter growled.

“Gentlemen. There will be no fighting in the Hospital Wing. Mr. Malfoy, here is a potion to heal your ribs and another to reset your joint. Mr. Potter, you’re in rather worse condition, you’ll take a bit more work.” Pomfrey glared at Draco before handing him two vials.

Draco downed them in quick succession.

“Mr. Potter, I need you to take your hand away from your nose, please.”

There was a protesting noise from Potter which quickly escalated as Pomfrey magically froze his arms at his sides.

Draco smirked at his incapacitated adversary as he slipped his wand into his hand under his sleeve.

The next part of the scroll was more or less useless to Draco, but it was only fitting the scroll would immortalize Potter as having a broken nose. Especially one from Draco.

“Escribamens Valetudo”


	9. Understandings and Alliances

“And that’s when the dog turned into Sirius!” Potter related excitedly.

“That dog…it was Black’s animagus form?” Draco exclaimed in disbelief. He’d seen the creature too many times to count and never thought anything of it.

“What’s an animagus?” Jamie asked.

“Animagus transformation is the ability for a witch or wizard to transform into the form of an animal. It’s very difficult, most wizards and witches never learn how to do it, but Sirius and my father both did it while they were in Hogwarts.” Potter told her.

Jamie just looked up at him, eyes sparkling with delight at this.

“Anyways, Moony showed up just in time, and told us he’s a werewolf. He’s the reason they worked so hard to become animagi. But that’s a different story. Turns out, Ron’s pet rat Scabbers was actually Peter Pettigrew, who everyone thought was murdered by Sirius. See, but the Map isn’t fooled by animagi transformation, so it showed Scabbers as-”

“The Map? As in the Marauders Map?” Draco asked quickly.

Potter nodded, then froze.

“Wait a minute. How do you know about the Marauders Map!”

Draco cursed his quick mouth. Shrugged elegantly.

“A bit of research. It’s one of the things you inherited from Black.”

“Oh. Well it was from all the Marauders, so it’s not part of the Black inheritance. I got it back in third year.” Potter said defensively. No doubt this was one of the few physical possessions he wasn’t willing to part with.

“Well, if her father was one of the creators, then I’d say Jamie has at least an equal claim on it to yours.” Draco argued, hoping to at least learn more about the powerful artifact.

Potter looked from him to Jamie for a moment.

“Yeah, you’re right. But this isn’t a formal inheritance. It’s only supposed to be seen and used or even known of by Marauders. So if you want to see it, you have to become a Marauder, Jamie. And…you can’t tell anyone about it. That means Malfoy.” Potter said to her.

Draco didn’t like where this was going.

“I’m her de facto guardian in the magical world, Potter. You have to go through me, especially on matters of inheritance.”

“This isn’t that kind of inheritance. The Marauders are the Marauders, it has nothing to do with blood. Except, maybe the tendency to become a Marauder kind of person is inherited.” Potter retorted.

Draco paused to think about that. If the Marauders could be said to be a group or club, and the Map was property of that group rather than the individual members…damn, then Potter was right. Well, as much as he hated to let Potter alone with his impressionable cousin, he wasn’t going to deny her access to a magical artifact powerful enough to detect animagi at a distance.

“Fine. It’s up to her.” Draco said, crossing his arms.

“Jamie? Would you like to be a Marauder?”

Jamie looked down at her hands, blushing cutely.

“I…I don’t even…what’s a Marauder?”

“The Marauders are a group of students at Hogwarts, who try to-” Potter began

“Troublemakers.” Draco cut off the rosy picture Potter was trying to paint abruptly. “They’re the grand masters of chaos and consternation. They exist to thumb their noses at authority and propriety.”

Jamie just looked over at Potter expectantly.

“Well. I guess most of that’s true. Their main activity is usually pranks, and they do get into trouble a lot. The current set of Marauders does some other things though. In first year we prevented Voldemort from getting his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“POTTER!” Draco hissed in horror as the forbidden name came so effortlessly out of the boy’s mouth.

“Who’s Voldem-”

Draco swiftly cut her off with a hand over her mouth.

“The Dark Lord is an immensely powerful wizard, and has been known to detect the use of his name in places of magical power. _Such as Hogwarts_ , Potter. And most _sensible_ witches and wizards do _not_ seek his notice!” Draco explained in a hushed voice.

“Refusing to say his name gives him more power-” Potter started to object.

“That’s all very well and good if you’re Albus Dumbledore, or the sodding Boy-Who-Lived, Potter. He already wants you dead. Surely you’re not going to advise a _first year_ to go around saying his name!” Draco hissed.

Potter paused, looking at Draco’s face uncertainly.

“Merlin. You’re terrified.”

“Of _course_ I’m fucking terrified! Where have you _been_ the last _decade_ , Potter! Everyone is fucking terrified! Or at least, the ones with some common _sense_ are!”

Potter looked at him like he’d just had an epiphany for a long moment. Then he looked at Jamie.

“Malf-…Draco’s right. You don’t need his notice. But you shouldn’t call him the Dark Lord either. That gives him even more power than being afraid to say his name. Most people refer to him as ‘You-Know-Who.’”

Jamie giggled, and Potter grinned the most horribly carefree and, damn it, _cute_ grin at her. Draco blinked his eyes rapidly to dispel the disturbing image from his retinas. Sodding Potter may be powerful, he may even be respectable and perhaps even good-looking when he decided to dress himself like a grown-up Lord. But he was not going to be fucking _cute_. Case closed.

That decided, Draco turned to Potter.

“I really think we should be getting back to our dorms. Potions first thing tomorrow.”

Potter grunted his assent, no doubt dreading his most hated class.

“Okay. Bye Jamie. I’ll send you an owl so you can know when to meet the Marauders. Later Malfoy.”

“Ta, Potter.” Draco paused as Potter walked away.

“Go ahead Jamie, I’ll catch up.”

Jamie gave him a calculating look before she obeyed.

“Potter.”

“Yeah, Malfoy?”

“I had something else to say to you.”

“I figured.”

“If Jamie plays a part in your little pranks, fine. Whatever. This Marauder business is foolish and undignified, but mostly harmless. But it _better_ stay harmless, Potter. Don’t you involve her in the war. If she gets hurt as a part of one of your little Gryffindor adventures, I know a curse that will make you see her last moment every time you close your eyes. Understand?”

Potter looked back at Draco, something akin to respect dawning in his eyes. Draco ignored the long-sought-for regard from his rival and concentrated on looking deadly and determined.

“I understand, Malfoy.” Potter said quietly.

Draco paused, examining the strange expression on Potter’s face just a couple feet from his own.

“Good.”

Draco spun on his heel and strode down the corridor towards the dungeons. One, two, three steps. Then he smoothly pivoted and pointed his wand at Potter’s retreating back.

“Escribamens Iunctio.”

 

\- - - - -

 

“Draco!”

Draco paused and looked at Blaise, annoyed. He’d hoped to get into his room without delay, as this newest section of the scroll would clear up a mystery from the last.

“Zabini.” He said coolly. Blaise may have been his childhood friend, but at their age at least the minimally proper forms of address should be adhered to in public areas.

“Sorry. Malfoy.” Blaise corrected himself. “Professor Snape was in here looking for you earlier. He didn’t look happy.”

“Was he?” Draco asked sharply, pleased. Perhaps the spy was beginning to see reason and would open negotiations.

“He referred to you as ‘Malfoy’.” Blaise said with a knowing look. Professor always referred to his Slytherins as “ _Mr._ Zabini” or “ _Miss_ Parkinson”. And in private, usually referred to Draco by his first name. Unless he was very angry.

Draco studied his childhood friend, who was now his closest ally. He had been leaving Blaise out of his scheming of late, and the boy was clever enough to have noticed. And, no doubt, made various suppositions based on that fact. And perhaps modified his own strategic positions to reflect a perceived shift in their long-standing alliance.

That would not do. Fortunately, Draco knew exactly how to set it right. There was really only one currency in Slytherin alliances.

He arched an eyebrow at Blaise, subtly inviting him to join him as he walked to his rooms.

“Did he now? Hmm, no he’s not pleased then. Perhaps he’s finally realized he’s out of options.” Draco said just loud enough to reach only Blaise’s ears.

“Options?” 

Draco just smirked as he came to the door to his private room.

“Major risus, acreor ensus.”

The opening appeared and Draco ushered Blaise into his room, ignoring his smug look at being trusted with the password.

“Yes, options. I expect I’ll be getting what I want in the next week.” Draco said, with a smug look affixing itself to his own face.

“You’re not…surely you’re not _blackmailing Professor Snape_ , are you?” Blaise asked, his smug look fading into one of horrified awe.

“Perhaps.”

“But…what could you ever use against him! Everyone outside Slytherin hates him already!”

“Blaise. Professor Snape has far worse things to worry about than his social standing.” Draco said calmly, watching the boy’s eyes flicker with subtle relief at the use of his given name.

Blaise let out a slow exhalation, breath whistling slightly through his pursed lips.

“I’m sure you know you’re playing a dangerous game, Draco. What about everything you said back in September? Aren’t you going to stay out of it?”

Draco gave him a long, measuring look.

“This is our last year, Blaise. We can be neutral, for now. But I don’t think the war will be over in time to avoid making choices.”

Blaise let out another long whistling breath.

“You’re right. So…what are you blackmailing Professor Snape for?” Blaise knew better than to try to pry after the information that would give Draco leverage over the man. There were limits, after all.

“Information, of course.”

“About joining the Dark Lord?”

Draco waved a hand impatiently at the question.

Blaise nodded. The Dark Lord would be eager to regain access to the Malfoy family vaults and artifacts: Draco could take up his father’s former position any time he chose.

“About Potter. I think he’s much more powerful than is apparent. _Much_ more powerful. And I’m the Lord Malfoy now.”

Blaise nodded, knowing the Malfoy family history in France. The importance of allying oneself with the winning side was drilled into every pureblooded child.

“What do you mean by much more powerful? More powerful than the Dark Lord?” Blaise asked.

Draco looked at the boy, trying to decide how much to tell him. He’d known Blaise for a long time, they’d been conspirators and allies, and before that, playmates. They understood each other well. The boy was the very embodiment of _intelligenti pauca_.

And Draco had already betrayed to him that he was having doubts about joining the Dark Lord. The Escribamens spell _had_ to be protected from disclosure, which meant some other reason for that doubt needed to be put forward…an alibi of sorts.

Blaise met his eyes levelly. Watching, _understanding_ the calculation that Draco was making at that very moment, waiting to see how much Draco would decide to confide in him. How closely he would include him in his strategies. How deeply he would allow Blaise to integrate his plans for _his_ survival and fortunes with Draco’s own.

Not “trust”. That would be an insult. An assumption that one’s allies were so foolish and sentimental that they would ignore a chance to increase their own fortunes if it presented itself. 

_Trusting_ an ally completely was presumptuous and rude, not to mention foolish. Trust was reserved for close family. But _regard_ was shown to a close ally like Blaise by _investing_ in the alliance. And the greatest investment, the closest thing to _trust_ that could be given wisely, was by integrating one’s allies into one’s own plans. _Indirectly_ of course – give them enough information so that both their separate strategies would end up mutually beneficial if so inclined, but not enough to invite betrayal if they ended up on opposing sides.

And _that_ was the currency of Slytherin alliances.

Draco needed an alibi. Blaise needed enough information to allow him to accurately choose the winning side.

Draco made his decision.

“Three weeks ago, I convinced Potter to give the Black inheritance to Jamie. When he agreed, I initiated Placitum Perago. He accepted it with a wave of his hand. I don’t think he intended to, but it worked.” Draco told him.

“A wave of…his _hand_?” Blaise repeated, his eyes wide.

“Just his hand.” Draco confirmed.

“That’s-”

“Not impossible. If Potter is powerful enough. But if that’s true, the only reason he hasn’t completely wiped out the Dark Lord is because he doesn’t know his own power, or how to use it. Yet.”

Blaise stared at him in shock.

“Well…I believe…Potter _did_ bounce the Killing Curse off his forehead as an infant. That’s quite…extreme, for accidental magic.” He finally said.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t considered that. 

Accidental magic typically produced effects that would take many years to learn in spell form. Complex applications of Wingardium, or general-area effects of Reducto, or even Inflagrante and Lumos. Draco had heard rumors of infants who grew up to be immensely powerful, like the Dark Lord or Dumbledore, altering weather patterns according to their moods or causing individuals that angered them to grow sick.

All things that they would lose the ability to do, once they got their wand, and then after many years of study, learn again to do intentionally, on a more focused scale.

But to deflect the Killing Curse…no wizard had accomplished anything remotely like that. Ever. There was no shield, no protection, no magic that could prevent it from striking its target and ripping out their soul.

It was the reason the curse was an Unforgivable.

If _that_ was Potter’s accidental magic…it stood to reason that eventually Potter would be able to shield himself…and _others_ …from the Killing Curse as well.

“You’re right. I wonder why nobody ever thought of that.” Draco said slowly. “Merlin…he’s going to be…why has nobody thought of that?”

“I’m sure Dumbledore has. And probably the Dark Lord. Probably why he’s been so anxious to kill him every year since he came back to the wizarding world.” Blaise said thoughtfully.

 _So_. That settled it. If being the heir of the Dark Lord, and through him of Slytherin, and through James Potter, of Gryffindor, hadn’t been enough, the Boy-Who-Lived had…well…“lived”. Bounced the Killing Curse off his forehead. With accidental magic. Killed the most powerful dark wizard of the age _by accident_.

Potter would probably be the most powerful wizard since Merlin.

If he lived long enough.

“There really _is_ a choice, then.” Blaise spoke his own thoughts aloud.

“Or…at least…it isn’t as one-sided as we’ve always thought.” Draco suggested.

They studied each other’s faces for a long moment, expressionless, but searching for some hint of which way the other would lean. Both knew either decision would be kept secret until the moment of betrayal.

They were also both masters of their expressions since toddlerhood. There was no revelation in Blaise’s brown eyes, and Draco was sure his own face gave away nothing.

“Well. Good evening, Zabini.” Draco said in dismissal.

“Malfoy.” Zabini said formally, as he took himself from Draco’s room.

Draco waited until the door closed and then cast a strong Colloportus on it before opening the scroll.

The most recent stage of the spell had dropped an unexpected bit of news into Draco’s lap.

Beyond the fact that Potter was exhausted, his magical levels about half-drained from feeding his broom through such incredible maneuvers, and he had, indeed, a broken nose, was another much more vital fact.

Potter was desperately in love.

Not that this seemed to be a positive thing, even from Potter’s point of view.

The icon, when Draco had stared at it, had flooded him with feelings: desperate longing, mixed with bitterness and pain and, yes, self- _loathing_ connected to the existence of that longing.

A forbidden and hopeless crush, then.

How very Hufflepuff.

And certainly something to be learned more about.

Which was why this next section of the scroll would be so interesting.

Draco unfurled the scroll and tapped his wand to the new icon depicting two pieces of twine tied together.

Potter in the center, of course.

His closest ties…no surprises. Granger. Weasel. Then the rest of the Weasleys. Lupin. Dumbledore. His other yearmates in Gryffindor. Faint lines attaching to the rest of Gryffindor, and various other members of different houses, even a line tentatively attaching itself to little Jamie. Varying connections to various professors, and one disjointed line reluctantly attaching to Professor Snape. Draco smirked at the angry red line attaching itself to his own portrait.

Interestingly, another kind of line to one Petter Pettigrew, indicating Potter was owed a Life Debt. 

And of course, the connection to the Dark Lord, glowing green.

But…where was this hopeless romantic interest?

There was no portrait that jumped out at Draco, nothing that aligned with his own observations of Potter with those around him.

Of course. It was a _hopeless, forbidden_ love. Potter would no doubt try to conceal it.

But…who?

Draco examined the connections to Weasel and Granger. These were the only really strong attachments Potter seemed to have.

But he was _sure_ he would have seen some hint if Potter were interested in either of them. As far as he could see, Potter was as exasperated with their failure to express their mutual attraction as the rest of the school was annoyed by it.

So…who did that leave.

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the connection to the youngest Weasley.

It was stronger than the one to the rest of the Weasleys, excluding Ron.

Draco looked hard at the connection. A glimpse of Ginny Weasley, flying on her broom, cheeks flushed and eyes dancing with merriment. Then she was lying on a stone floor somewhere, and Potter was rushing to her, gathering her up in his arms.

Draco looked away. The scene made him oddly uncomfortable. In any case, he’d seen enough.

Potter had a crush on his best friend’s sister. So that was the source of the heavy angst clouding Potter’s emotional status. Hopeless, because Potter had said publicly many times that he regarded the Weasley’s as his family. And, by extension, Ginny as his sister. And no doubt, Potter would think it a horrible thing that he was having lustful fantasies about his best friend’s younger sibling. Thinking her _forbidden_ , no doubt.

Draco shook his head in disgust. Poor, stupid, muggle-raised Potter.

Of _course_ she wasn’t forbidden. Like the Weasley’s weren’t desperately in need of a beneficial marriage alliance, given the pitiful state of their coffers.

Of course, someone like Potter…the most powerful wizard of several ages…married to a Weasley…Draco shuddered. What a _waste_ that would be.

Well, this explained why Potter hadn’t accepted the proposal of a marriage to Jamie. Draco would have to keep tabs on this pathetic little crush, hopefully Potter would lose his fixation and be more amenable in the future.

The Black line could use an advantageous marriage alliance as well, for more appropriate reasons than money. Aside from the obvious importance of Potter’s powerful blood, Potter’s _name_ would be gold for generations to come, and the Black family name was in dire need of polishing.

And if Draco was going to consider changing sides, he wanted to be sure his current animosity with that blazing light was turned into something much more amicable first. A marriage relation sounded like an excellent start on that project.

 _If_ Draco changed sides.


	10. Revelations

“Today you will be brewing a potion you learned about last year. The Confusing and Befuddlement Draught. I will be returning your essays on the subject from the last year to you, and they will be your only reference.” Professor Snape said evilly.

The groans from the Gryffindor side of the room made the Slytherins snicker.

The snickers were cut off by Professor Snape’s next pronouncement.

“As this particular Draught is rather volatile, I will be assigning you in pairs to hopefully prevent _some of you_ from destroying my potions laboratory.” Professor Snape said, eyeing Neville Longbottom distrustfully.

“Longbottom, Zabini.”

Draco heard Blaise cursing under his breath, quickly joined by Pansy as she was joined with Weasley..

“Granger, Goyle. Thomas, Crabbe.”

Now there was cursing from the Gryffindors.

“Potter, Malfoy.”

Draco stopped, staring up at the professor, who had a decidedly vindictive gleam in his eye.

Well. If that was the way he was going to play.

Draco opened the parchment that contained his essay on the Confusing and Befuddlement Drought for a quick review. Yes, the full recipe _was_ there, along with various background information on the reasons behind each item. This should be no problem, even with the rather inept Potter in the mix.

Speaking of which, Draco felt his right side warm up as Potter slid behind the desk next to him.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

There was a silence for a moment as Draco looked over his essay. His godfather had to be repayed for this, of course. How to do so without being obvious about it, or reducing his Potions grade, or possibly casting the blame on Potter.

No, no. Draco reminded himself he was supposed to be being nice to Potter for now.

Damn.

Then, involve Potter as an accessory?

Draco observed Potter out of the corner of his eye, and caught Potter doing the same to him.

They both jerked their eyes to the front of them, quickly.

Well. Potter certainly hated Professor Snape. And he was also a Marauder. Perhaps it was time to turn his love of a good prank to Draco’s advantage.

The problem was, what to do?

“Potter, let’s see your essay.”

“Uh…I dunno about you, but I actually listed the recipe at the beginning. To take up space, you know.” Potter said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“Any theory on the ingredients or method?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“A little…” Potter said timidly. “But if we have the recipe-”

Potter trailed away as he caught a glimpse of the evil glint in Draco’s eye.

“You know Professor Snape wouldn’t have put us together except as a punishment, right?”

“When does he ever need to punish me? He hates my guts!” Potter hissed.

“For both of us, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes. The Gryffindor’s eyes widened in understanding.

“So every time we get put together, it’s because Snape is mad at _you_?” he said incredulously.

“Of course.” Draco said pleasantly. “So. Usually it’s something unimportant. But in this case I also happen to be annoyed with him.”

“Okaaay…” Potter looked at him like he was one of Hagrid’s strange little beasts. “So?”

“So, I propose we _subtly_ sabotage the potion.” Draco said.

“Um…” Potter looked really confused now.

“So…it needs to work when we test it. But after it’s bottled and added to his stores…” Draco let the thought hang.

“Okay. I have no idea how to do that.”

“Well…we _could_ simply replicate the proper _colors_ of the potion, in a non-toxic way, and then have you _pretend_ to be befuddled and confused when you test it.” Draco suggested.

“Umm…that sounds like a really bad idea.”

“True. You’re a shit actor, Potter.”

“Hey!”

“Besides, Snape knows you inside and out by now, doesn’t he?” Draco asked, thinking of the Occlumency lessons.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” Draco skimmed over Potter’s essay, and more importantly, the extensive red markings from Snape in the margins…and started thinking through the puzzle, mumbling aloud.

“Okay, we’ll have to actually make a working potion…lets see…sneezewort, scurvy-grass, and lovage are the inflammants…alihotsy and glumbumble counterbalance each other to impede the brain processes…jobberknoll and scarab effects inverted by dragon blood and hellebore…sopohorus…hmm…”

“Malfoy?”

“Just a minute Potter.”

Potter huffed and crossed his arms.

Draco did a few arithmancy calculations on a scrap of paper…there.

“I’ve got it. Easy, really.”

“What?”

“Dragon blood. Jobberknoll and scarab would normally make you quick witted and smart…dragon blood causes those ingredients to have the opposite effect.

“Uh…” Potter sounded like he’d already taken the Draught.

“But dragon blood is volatile, of course, so it has to be countered by the sopohorus, which also slows the brain, and glumbumble bile, which of course is also counterbalanced with alihotsy to increase the befuddlement part of the potion.” Draco explained.

Potters eyes were glazing over. Draco hurried on.

“So, the thing is, scarab and alihotsy if aligned together remain intact inside a potion, and over time, they meld to create an acid that explodes on contact with new ingredients. Remember that Potter, it can be a devastating kind of time bomb.” Draco continued.

Potter, who had perked up at the mention of exploding, nodded hesitantly.

“Anyways, that’s why when scarab and alihotsy are in the same potion, are _always_ stirred in opposite directions. And potions with scarab should never be administered to anyone who has recently taken anything with alihotsy in it, and vica versa. Unless you actually are _trying_ to kill them, of course.” Draco told him laconically.

“Uh. No thanks.” Potter shuddered.

“So. What we’ll do is slightly reduce the amount of sopohorus, and increase the glumbumble to make up for it. But then we have to increase the alihotsy as well to counterbalance the glumbumble. But what we’ll do is, when stirring in the alihotsy, on the seventh stir, we’ll switch directions to counterclockwise.”

“Wait! I thought you said it had to go the opposite way to the…the…what was it?”

“Scarab. Good! You’re catching on, Potter!”

Potter blushed at the praise, ducking his head adorably.

Draco just smirked.

“Anyways, the alihotsy and scarab take a while to react. In those amounts, and with only one-seventh of it stirred the same direction as scarab, a good ten hours or so.” Draco assured him. “You’ll want to make yourself puke after class, of course, to make sure it’s not still in your stomach.”

Potter’s blush turned pale.

“Um…”

“So, in about ten hours, one-seventh of the scarab and alihotsy will start to meld. Which of course, will mean that the glumbumble will start to react to the dragons blood because it will no longer be dampened by the alihotsy. And of course, the magical energy of the dragonsblood will also no longer be expended on inverting the effects of a full one-seventh of the scarab, leaving us with a dragonsblood-glumbumble pressure system.” Draco explained.

“What’s a…a…” Potter asked, faintly.

“Well you know dragonsblood naturally raises the temperature of anything it touches, especially if it has no room to expand. Glumbumble when heated forms a rather strong crystalline solid that expands rapidly as it soaks in heat, attaching itself to the nearest solid anchor. So, when the two are unleashed inside a closed container, such as a _vial_ , Potter…the Glumbumble reinforces and thickens the glass of the vial, causing the dragons blood to be more compressed and heat up more, further thickening the glass, and so on, until eventually the entire mixture is solid…and very, very, hot. When it reaches that point, it shatters.”

“Okay…” Potter said. 

“Which in this case, would release an unusually potent alihotsy-scarab bomb. Which would have been prevented from exploding properly for quite a while, due to the thickness of the Glumbumble coating. And would therefore have continued to meld with the _rest_ of the scarab, despite being stirred in opposite directions. Understand, Potter? That acid would be boiling, and propelled in all directions. Right inside Professor Snape’s potions cabinet. Ruining all his work.”

Potter’s eyes had been glazing over, but popped open and alert with the last sentence.

“Um. That could be really bad, though. What if some of his potions are really needed?”

Draco looked at Potter for a minute. Then realized. The werewolf. Wolfsbane Potion. Right.

“Well, I doubt he’ll put this in _that_ cabinet. This is bulk-stuff. The regular potions Dumbledore makes him put out by the bucketful, and that he sells off for money to get ingredients.”

“Oh, ok, good then. Only…are you sure this is safe to drink for now?” Potter asked, his eyes already lighting up with the idea of setting off an explosion in his most hated professor’s potions cupboard.

“Not unless you keep it down for hours. I’ll personally make sure you regurgitate every last bit of it right after class ends.” Draco promised.

Potter looked at him carefully, eyes narrowed, then nodded.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

An hour later, Potter’s hand was noticeably shaking as he held the small sample of Confusing and Befuddlement Drought in his hand.

“Now, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape ordered.

Potter looked at Draco, closed his eyes, and swallowed the potion.

Then opened his eyes.

“Uhm. Huh?”

“Mr. Potter, can you tell me where you are?”

“What? Ahhh! A bat! No…a man? Look, he’s a man-bat! Eww, oh somebody my mouth is gross! Wait, what’s this stuff…I’m wearing a dress? I’m not a girl, just because I…er…I’m _not_ a girl!”

Potter babbled, pulling ineffectually at his robes.

“Potter?”

Draco grabbed the boys wrist.

“Ah!”

Potter jerked in surprise as Draco’s face blocked his field of vision.

“Oooooh! Pretty hair!”

Potter’s hand moved to try and touch Draco’s hair. Draco quickly grabbed his other wrist to avoid the sacrilege.

“Potter!”

“You hate me! Why do you hate me? I’m good, I clean, I cook, I’m very quiet! I really am quiet! Why do you hate me?” Potter’s lower lip trembled, green eyes twice their normal size and filling with tears.

“Mr. Malfoy, it seems your potion has had an unusually powerful effect. Mind telling me what you changed from the original recipe?” Professor Snape sounded amused.

“I added additional glumbumble, and used less sopohorus.” Draco said truthfully.

“Hmm. Interesting. Yes, I suppose that would do that, he seems a bit panicky, which the sopohorus would dampen a bit. Excellent work Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin.”

Harry was babbling Parseltongue at the snake on Draco’s Slytherin crest, seeming hurt that it wasn’t answering him.

“What about Potter?” Draco asked.

“Oh. Hmm, with the changes you made I suppose the standard antidote isn’t wise. Take him to the hospital wing for a charms-based cure.” Snape said absently, then walked off muttering, “Glumbumble and sopohorus. Hmm, I wonder if…”

Draco rolled his eyes and tugged on Potter’s wrists to get his attention.

“Come on, Potter.”

Potter looked up at him, startled.

“Huh?”

“I promised you a surprise, don’t you remember?”

“Nooo…surprises are bad!”

“But it’s not a surprise if I promised it, is it!” Draco said logically.

Potter wrinkled his forehead, trying to think through the logic of that, then visibly gave up.

“My head hurts.” He complained.

“We’ll take care of that too. Please, just come on.” Draco coaxed him out of the Potions classroom and down the hall to the bathroom.

Draco pulled Potter inside the bathroom and positioned him facing a toilet before pulling out his wand. The opportunity was perfect for the last stage of the spell.

“Escribamens Desiderium et Timor”

“Wha-“ Potter turned large, betrayed eyes on Draco. He seemed to be aware something had happened but not what. 

Draco sighed, feeling inexplicably guilty for taking advantage of Potter’s state to finish the spell…perhaps it would have been more sporting to do it from behind when Potter was in his right mind. Oh well. Time to set Potter to rights before those innocent eyes accused him any more.

“You’re not going to enjoy this, Potter. Boulimos.”

Potter held out for a good three seconds before falling to his knees and retching explosively into the toilet.

Draco sighed and politely turned his back until the horrid noises stopped.

“Ugh!” Potter moaned.

“Back to yourself, Potter?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that!” came the complaint.

“Just imagine Snape’s office blowing up in the middle of the night, tonight, Potter.” Draco assured him. That actually seemed to help.

“If _I_ explode, I’ll haunt you and make your life miserable, Malfoy.”

“Fair enough. If you’re making threats I guess you’re back to your right mind, then.”

“Yeah. Except I’ve got a headache like an elephant sat on it.”

Draco considered the odd turn of phrase. Muggle, no doubt.

“Well. I suggest you get some food in your stomach then.”

“Right. After you.” Potter said distrustfully.

Draco paused, annoyed. Then turned towards the door.

“Uh, Malfoy. Can you predict the time it’ll go off?” Potter’s voice stopped him.

“Not precisely. I would guess around one or two in the morning. Why do you ask?” Draco turned his head to see Potter staring at the back of his head as if contemplating something.

“Uh. I was thinking…it’d be great to see Snape’s face…” Potter looked at the ground, blushing furiously.

Draco studied him carefully.

“It would.” He allowed. “However, if we were caught, he would find a way to kill us both.”

Potter seemed on the verge of saying something, then seemed to bite his tongue.

“Is your invisibility cloak large enough for two?” Draco asked.

Potter looked up at him, completely shocked.

Draco smirked.

“Mud doesn’t throw itself, Potter. I’m not stupid.”

“I…yeah…it can fit two…if you…um…would you want to…” Potter stammered.

Good grief. Had the boy _no_ social graces? He was a Lord, twice over, and one of those of the Ancient and Noble House for Merlin’s sake! It was painful to watch!

“I would love to accompany to observe the fruits of our project, Potter.” Draco cut him off mercifully.

“Right! Good! Um, I mean, fine then, I guess I should come get you at Slytherin so you aren’t spotted. Uh…midnight at the door to Slytherin?” Potter stammered. Draco wondered how the boy knew where the entrance to Slytherin was.

“Midnight tonight at Slytherin.” Draco said, graciously.

“Right! See you Malfoy.” Potter said awkwardly.

Draco just gave a short nod and swept out the door. Back to Potions.

When he arrived Professor Snape was just dismissing the class.

“Professor Snape, could I see you in your office?” Draco asked politely.

His godfather glowered at him for a moment before nodding.

“Zabini.” Draco said his friend’s name, casually. Blaise turned to him and raised an eyebrow. Draco raised his chin and allowed the corner of his lips to tip up slightly. Blaise nodded in understanding and followed Draco and Professor Snape to his office.

Snape opened the door and turned towards Draco, a displeased look coming across his face as he took in Blaise’s presence behind Draco.

“Zabini. This is a private conference.”

“We’ll need him as a bonder, Professor.” Draco said smoothly.

“A bonder.” Professor Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I assume you’ll want certain assurances, sir. An Unbreakable Vow will be sufficient, I think.” Draco said.

“I do _not_ want Zabini to be informed-” his godfather started.

“Nor shall he be. Zabini knows what _I_ am doing, but not the content of either side of our negotiation. We’ll phrase the Vow to keep it that way.” Draco said smoothly.

Snape looked between the two students suspiciously, then whirled around, robes billowing impressively as he led the way into his office.

Draco withdrew a piece of paper and handed it to his godfather.

Professor Snape read over the parchment carefully, then nodded.

“That is satisfactory.”

“Good. Blaise?”

Professor Snape handed the parchment to Blaise and held out his hand to Draco. Draco clasped it.

Blaise tapped their joined hands with his wand, clearing his throat.

“Do you, Severus Snape, swear to select from among your memories concerning Harry Potter, the ones which will be most advantageous to Draco Malfoy for the purpose of choosing a side in the current war?”

“I so swear.” A loop of fiery red magic encircled the professor’s wrist.

“Do you also swear that in choosing such memories, you shall adhere to the greatest possible advantage of Draco Malfoy with respect to his future dealings with Harry Potter, without attempt to prevaricate, alter, or edit the extent of such memories in an effort to minimize that advantage?”

“I so swear.” Another loop of red.

“And do you also swear to withdraw the selected memories from your mind, and place them into a set of durable vials, and deliver them safely and discreetly to Draco Malfoy within one hour of this Vow?”

“I so swear.” The final loop settled into place, and the three sunk invisibly into Professor Snape’s skin.

Blaise turned to Draco.

“Do you, Draco Malfoy, swear that you will never reveal what you know of concerning Professor Snape’s activities and allegiances in the war, to his detriment?”

“I so swear.” Draco felt the sizzling energy of the magic looping around his wrist, fighting the urge to flinch from it.

“And do you also swear that you will never reveal the contents of the memories provided to you by Severus Snape as part of this vow, to anyone, to his detriment?”

“I so swear.” The lines of fire doubled, Draco felt his skin singing from the intense magical energy.

“And do you also swear that you will never use the content or implications following from the memories provided to you by Severus Snape in any strategy or tactic in the war, on behalf of or to the detriment of either side, or of any member of either side, except with the full approval of Severus Snape?”

“I so swear.” A third line of magical fire swirled around Draco’s wrist and then they sunk into his skin, where he felt them buzzing for a moment before the sensation faded.

He released his godfather’s hand, relieved that ordeal was over.

“Thank you, Blaise.” He said softly, so only his friend could hear.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I will in a moment.” Draco said quietly, reaching a hand in his robes for Potter’s newly completed scroll.

“Professor. I’ll be in my room, when you’re finished.” Draco said calmly.

“No need. I knew exactly what memories to give you.” His godfather sneered, handing him a single vial. Clearly still pissed off, despite the assurance of the Vow. The man clearly hated to be backed into a corner.

“Just one memory, professor?” Draco asked skeptically.

“It’s really quite enough. Please, don’t bother returning it, it was most certainly _not_ a welcome discovery.” The sneer was even uglier. Interesting.

“Professor. Zabini. I think I’ll retire to my room, now.” Draco said politely, sweeping out the door.

\- - - - -

In his dorm, Draco held the silvery vial in one hand, and Potter’s scroll in the other. Which to examine first?

The scroll was the older project. Fitting to view it in it’s completion first. Then the peak into the darkest recess of Potter’s mind, for the details the scroll was sure to miss, he decided.

Nodding to himself, Draco placed the vial securely in the rack at the back of his desk and unfurled the scroll.

A swirling icon had been added. Fears and desires, the last missing piece of Potter’s psyche, Draco thought.

He tapped it with his wand.

And stared.

This section of the scroll was wholly unlike Dumbledores.

Potter was, clearly, a very simple person. With very simple fears, and very simple desires.

The two sides of the scroll were, Draco supposed, like the Mirror of Erised and it’s evil twin.

On the left, Potter’s greatest fear was, surprisingly, _not_ the Dark Lord.

Potter stood on the top of a hill, which was covered in human remains. A few of them recognizable. Weasley, Granger, the little Weasley, the werewolf, everyone in the school, in fact. The Dark Lord’s fresh corpse stood discarded not far from Potter. 

And Potter was in the very _act_ of casting a familiar green-colored curse at…Draco himself. A vicious, rabid-looking version of Draco, face twisted into a rictus of hatred, a similar green glow just growing on the end of his wand.

Not quite fast enough, Draco noted. The green jet of the curse from Potter’s wand was halfway to Draco already.

But why the hell was Potter afraid of Draco? That made no sense.

Though, maybe it was just that Draco was the last one of many to die.

He observed the pile of bodies.

Potter was more afraid of losing, or perhaps killing, everyone around him, than he was of the Dark Lord. How odd.

Draco turned his attention to the opposite side of the scroll, which magically lit up into realism as his eyes cast on it.

WHAT!?

Draco rubbed his eyes, sure that he was seeing things, but the same little scene played itself out again.

Potter stood atop the same hill, but there was no Voldemort’s body, or any others. Only a quaint little cottage. And, stepping out of the cottage door was none other than Draco, sneaking up behind Potter, covering his eyes from behind and whispering in his ear, Potter turning around in his arms and they were kissing-”

Draco stood suddenly, his chair crashing to the floor behind him as he stared down in total shock at the passionate embrace.

“Potter fancies…” his voice croaked, before he was suddenly lunging for his pensieve, enlarging it and grabbing up Snape’s vial, pulling the stopper, and pouring it in.

A swirl of the liquid with his wand, and Draco plunged his face into it, finding himself in Snape’s office.

__

_“You’re late!”_

_“Sorry…I was…um” Potter was blushing with embarrassment._

_“Legilmens!”_

_And then Draco was suddenly in Potter’s dorm room, and Potter was naked – Merlin was he naked, who knew Potter would look like THAT underneath those oversized clothes! And clearly he was enjoying the moment, because Potter’s erection was proudly thrust up into the air, trapped in a frantically pumping fist._

_“Oh…fuck…Draco…yes, yes! Oooh, touch me Draco, wanna- FUCK, FUCK! AAAAHHH!” And Potter was spraying his seed all over himself._

_And the next instance Potter was suddenly enraged - screaming, hitting his pillow in frustration._

_“Aarghh, I hate him! I **hate** him! Bastard! How does he do this to me?”_

_And then Potter was hugging his pillow and crying like a small child, huge sobs that made the bed shake._

_“Fuck, why does he have to hate me? Why does he have to be an evil git when I…I…fuck, I am so screwed.”_

_And then suddenly they were back in Professor Snape’s office, his godfather with a look of absolute revulsion on his face, and Potter in complete mortified horror, spinning, running for the door._

_“Colloportus! Incarcerous!”_

_“Let me go! Let me go!” Potter was screaming in rage and embarrassment, writhing in the magical ropes binding him as Snape approached him like a cornered animal._

_“How vulgar, Potter. Mind you, effective. You certainly know me well if you chose **that** image to get me out of your head. I suppose you’ve made an important step. Now, take the time to calm yourself while I retch for a moment.” Snape sneered._

_“Fuck off, you bastard!”_

_“Oh, I am no bastard Potter. You’re really going to have to work on your communication skills if you ever…no, forget that. I think you know you haven’t the slightest chance. How disgusting, the Boy Who Lived has a completely pathetic, futile crush on his schoolyard rival!”_

_“Fuck you! **FUCK. YOU!** Potter roared._

_“Well, you certainly won’t be fucking my godson. You Potters think you can have whoever you want. Well this is one little treat you’ll never taste, Potter, and I think I can safely say that considering my godson would hand you right over to his father and the Dark Lord if you tried. So put **that** notion right out of your head, understand Potter?” Severus sneered wickedly._

_“NO! He can’t have him! I love him!” Potter howled._

_“Love!” Severus was suddenly laughing, as Draco had never heard him laugh before. Horrible, mirthless, bitter laughter that cut off suddenly, and Severus’ sneering voice was completely serious in it’s malicious harshness. “Then you’re already dead, you Gryffindor fool.”  
_

 

\- - - - -


	11. Tension and Destruction

Draco had been brooding all day. 

He didn’t mind admitting it. Brooding was a very Slytherin trait, going hand-in-hand with such stereotypically Slytherin things as devious schemes for personal gain, diabolical plots of dark revenge, and sudden unexplainable bouts of cruel, evil laughter.

Of course, the latter was quite old-fashioned, as most Slytherins had evolved to more subtle ways of demonstrating their satisfaction with whatever plans they had hatched. Preferably, _after_ such plans had succeeded. Evil laughter, or any of the other popular variants, such as dancing upon tombstones, taking out large loans for purchases whose payment depended on the success of the scheme, or, Merlin forbid, actually _explaining_ the plot to one’s victims _before_ killing them tended to not only tip people off that such an event was planned, thus ruining the element of surprise, but also had the drawback of making one look foolish if things didn’t go as planned.

They were all also quite undignified.

So, the modern, politically correct Slytherin avoided laughter, and it’s variants, and typically conducted their scheming and plotting behind the carefully dignified veneer of “brooding”.

Draco had been brooding, hardcore, ever since viewing the troubling (and rather arousing) Pensieve memory that morning.

The other Slytherins (aside from Blaise, who knew who must be the cause of such behavior) were carefully keeping their distance, while watching furtively, and reviewing their own interactions with Draco for the past several weeks, hoping that they were not the targets of the undoubtedly elaborate scheme percolating in their Prince’s mind.

Potter was, apparently, infatuated with Draco. Potter fancied himself _in love_ with Draco. Draco knew this was impossible, not because of the years of enmity between them, but because Potter was not _related_ to Draco, and “love” was, of course, a strictly familial concept.

But Potter seemed convinced of this.

So Draco was reviewing the facts about Potter as he knew them, looking for some possible way that this Potter could somehow be feeling love for a Malfoy.

There was really only one possible explanation.

Potter, in addition to being Lord Potter, was also the Lord Black, as the chosen heir of Sirius. Although Sirius was not his blooded father, he was his godfather, with the magical connection forming a surrogacy in place of the standard blood bond, as was typical for confirmed godparents. And as Heir of Black, he would of course love Jaimie, as the only blooded child of Sirius, technically Potter’s magical sister.

And since Draco was Jaimie’s cousin, and also her magical guardian, that made a sort of twisted sense then…Draco was the magical guardian of Potter’s magical sister, making him an odd sort of uncle to Potter.

There were two things troubling Draco about this, however.

First, was that Potter also quite clearly lusted after Draco’s body. Incestuous relationships were not a problem, of course, especially at this level of removal, particularly since they had entirely different bloodlines and magical gifts.

It was just confusing to have this somewhat tenuous familial relationship, and the love that naturally would go with it, brought up in the middle of a discussion about Potter lusting after Draco’s body. It was almost as if Potter lusted after him _because_ Draco was an odd sort of uncle to Potter.

Draco shuddered. _That_ most certainly would be weird. The most powerful wizard since Merlin must be indulged his eccentricities, of course, but this odd taste for the flesh of family members was a bit hard to deal with.

Potter’s parents were fortunate to be safely dead and, hopefully, no longer sexually attractive to him.

Though, odd, that Jaimie hadn’t seemed to have caught Potter’s attention in that way. He _did_ seem interested in her, but purely in a non-sexual way. Perhaps Potter didn’t care for the flesh of relatives that happened to be so young. 

Draco hoped that was the case. Pedophilia was one of the few sexual preferences that the wizarding world would not tolerate, even for someone like Potter, because it had the tendency of interfering with the child’s magical development.

The second troubling thing was that, viewing the Pensieve, Draco had a feeling he was looking at a slightly _younger_ Potter. Perhaps the memory was from last year. But then that brought up another problem. Jaimie only just showed up scant months ago, which meant at the time of utterance, Potter had only known that he was _distantly_ related to Draco, through Sirius, who was his mother’s cousin.

The amount of emotion present in Potter’s statement, the pure fury and agony that he’d expressed at the thought of Draco belonging to the Dark Lord, was quite shocking towards such a distant relative. But Potter didn’t seem to feel that way towards Bellatrix, although it was quite significant that he’d been unable to Crucio her – even after witnessing her shocking murder of her cousin Sirius.

And, it was furthermore quite odd that Potter, who expressed at every turn his disdain for the importance of blood-connections, would be so strongly affected by such a tenuous familial relationship to Draco, whom he personally disliked, that he would reduce himself to _howling_ such familial devotion out loud in Severus’ office.

Draco wondered if the relationship through Jaimie could have affected Potter’s familial loyalty to Draco without Potter being aware of that relationship? This was the only rational explanation Draco could think of. It certainly was something that deserved close consideration – familial loyalty and it’s interactions with magic were the very bedrock of pureblood politics, and if they could operate outside of _awareness_ at such a level…such exclusive knowledge could be highly useful in the future.

Draco decided to fund a research project to develop the theory immediately.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

But first…what to do about Potter?

It was quite clear that Draco’s second suggestion at dinner at been better received than Potter had let on. Quite Slytherin of Potter, actually, to let Draco think he was rejecting the idea of a marriage alliance out of hand. If he hadn’t finished the scroll, Draco would likely have continued to make better and better offers, eventually offering himself as a desperate alternative to avoid having to offer his own mother, since Jaimie was apparently unacceptable due to her age. And half the Malfoy fortune as a dowry, no doubt.

“Malfoy?”

Damn Potter, he was far too clever behind that seemingly oblivious Gryffindor exterior. Draco reminded himself not to forget that his own godfather, surely the most masterful of spies, had been tutoring Potter in Occlumency.

Fortunately, Draco now saw through Potter’s admittedly devious strategy. And was also now armed with the knowledge of Potter’s strange sexual fetish, which was currently focused on Draco, his nearest living relative of suitable age.

Draco resolved to use this knowledge to his advantage before Jaimie grew old enough to become the object of Potter’s twisted fantasies, as she was a closer relation.

“DRACO!” Blaise shouted, right next to his ear. 

Draco did _not_ leap into the air in fright. In actual _fact_ , he swiftly recoiled from a potential danger, throwing the book he’d been pretending to read into the air as a distraction as he smoothly drew his wand and settled expertly into a defensive stance.

“Zabini. I should hex you for sneaking up on me.” Draco said, his voice completely unshaken, icy, even.

“I’ve been calling your name for the last five minutes, Malfoy.” Blaise said, eyebrow raised in supplication. That had better be supplication.

“What do you want?”

“Uh…actually… _Harry Potter_ is at the door, asking for you.” Blaise was not bothering to hide his curiosity, which was quite echoed by the rest of the Slytherins.

“Ah.” Draco said mysteriously, casting a quick tempus. “Right on time.”

And handing his book to Blaise to put away, Draco swept quickly out of the common room.

There was nobody there, of course.

Draco made sure the door was sealed, and cast a quick Muffliato just to be sure.

“Potter?”

A hand appeared from nowhere and grabbed his wrist, a thin shimmering layer of silk-like material was thrown over him and suddenly there was Potter, eyes glinting with excitement, less than a foot from Draco’s face.

“Took you long enough. Let’s go.”

Draco started to turn around but Potter caught his wrist again.

“Uh…let me be in front, if that’s okay.” He said.

“Whatever, Potter.” Draco said, and was suddenly looking at the back of Potter’s neck. Potter’s fingers tightened slightly on his wrist, pulling him closer until he was very nearly flush with Potter’s back.

“Potter?” Draco whispered into the back of Potter’s head. He was trying not to breathe too deeply, Potter carried an exotic spicy smell about him that was making Draco light-headed.

“This cloak isn’t meant for two people.” Potter said, placing Draco’s hand on his hip. Draco carefully put his other hand on Potter’s other hip. He could feel Potter’s stomach muscles twitching at the tips of his fingers.

“Ready.” He said, breathlessly, unavoidably inhaling some more of that spicy scent. 

That _had_ to be a potion. Perhaps some weaker variant of the befuddlement drought they’d sabotaged that morning, worn to celebrate the occasion? 

Draco couldn’t think properly.

Nevertheless, he easily moved with Potter, letting the slight flexing of Potter’s hips under his muscles guide his own movements so that they stayed together. Potter was breathing rather quickly, considering the sedate pace they were taking.

Ah yes. Potter’s fetish. No doubt Potter was quite hard right now under his robes, only inches from Draco’s very fingertips. Draco thought back to that Pensieve memory, he knew Potter’s erection would be nut-brown, with a vein of purple running up the underside, the pink head just peeking out the opening of-

Draco felt himself suddenly growing hard.

“Fuck!” he exhaled into the back of Potter’s neck.

Potter gasped, stopping dead in his tracks, trembling as Draco’s erection briefly made contact with his ass before Draco managed to pull away.

“What?” Potter asked shakily.

Draco took a deep breath, accidentally muddling his head with those befuddlement fumes again.

“Nothing. Keep going, we’re almost there.”

One more hallway and they stopped in an alcove with a nice view of the door to the Potions laboratory.

Potter cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on the alcove while Draco searched his own pockets and came up with a few pieces of string.

“Here, help me.”

“What?” Potter asked. Potter’s face was still flushed, and he was avoiding looking at Draco. 

Draco smirked, ignoring that he was probably in a similar condition. _He_ was merely suffering the effects of Potter’s obnoxiously effective potion. Potter was the one with an extremely embarrassing fetish for incest.

“Invisibility cloak. Tent-frame.” Draco said tersely, transfiguring the string into a roughly rectangular structure that would sit very low to the ground. Just enough room for two people to sit in, legs folded.

“Oh. Good idea.” Potter said, throwing the invisibility cloak over it.

“Got anything to transfigure into cushions?” Draco asked.

“Um…hang on.” Potter fished out a Chocolate Frog, opening it and snatching the animated sweet before it could escape. Potter handed the empty box to Draco, who reached for the invisible edge of the cloak and pulled it up.

Tossing the box inside, Draco transfigured it into a comfortable pad that covered the stone floor of the small space, then crawled inside.

Potter slowly followed him, still munching on the Frog.

\- - - - -

 

Ten minutes later, Draco was feeling very bored, and very annoyed with the silent Potter, who kept _looking_ at him, and very dizzy from the potion Potter had apparently bathed in, the smell of which was filling the small space.

“What _is_ that, Potter?” He finally demanded.

“What?”

“That…smell! You’re wearing something potent, I’m about to fall over from it!”

“Smell?” Potter gave a sniff, and shrugged. “I don’t smell anything.”

Draco leaned over, put his nose next to Potter’s jaw, and took a deep whiff.

“Quit playing dumb Potter. It _isn’t_ subtle at all, you know. I smelled it the second I got under that Invisibility Cloak with you. What are you wearing?”

“Just…oh! Just aftershave.”

“What in Merlin’s name is aftershave?”

“Um…a Muggle product. You put it on your face and neck…after you shave. For razor-burn.”

“Why wouldn’t you just use an enchanted- oh, a Muggle product.” Draco said in distaste.

“Why does it have such a strong smell?”

“Um…well…uh…” Potter stammered, “It _does_ have some perfume in it, I think to mask the chemicals…sort of like adding extra chocolate to make a potion taste nice.”

“Perfume? Muggles put _perfume_ in their cosmetic potions?” Draco asked, stunned. His own shampoo set consisted of five steps, one potion to clean his hair, one to serve as the basis for various styling spells, one to heal any breaks or brittleness, one to remove the harsh smells left by the previous potions, and one to imbue his hair with his trademark vanilla scent.

The idea of combining effects without losing potency was…worth further study. Draco resolved to commission another research project on that subject as well.

“Well yeah, it’s kind of standard…you can’t even buy a bottle of shampoo these days that hasn’t got some sort of girly scent mixed into it. Not to mention most stuff has dyes and stuff in it too, so the stuff even _looks_ girly.” Potter complained.

 _A_ bottle of shampoo, Draco thought. Well, surely the Muggles didn’t have the catalyst for styling spells integrated…but if things could be combined even a _little_ it could shave precious minutes from his morning routine…

“Potter, what sort of potions-making do these Muggles use for their shampoos?” Draco asked urgently, “I thought Muggles couldn’t do potions! They never even managed to make the most basic age-regression potions because they couldn’t work with the magical properties of-”

“Oh, they abandoned those kinds of things.” Potter said. “They have a completely different branch of potions, using the natural, non-magical properties of ingredients. Hermione says that their understanding of the subject is far more advanced than the magical worlds’ except that they’re just ignorant about the magical part of things. Uh…actually…when you were talking about all the reactions and…stuff…this morning, you reminded me of her lectures.”

“Is that so…” Draco said, not particularly pleased at the comparison, but also conscious that the Muggleborn witch was consistently ranked just barely below him in Potions, and had apparently brewed Polyjuice in her second year. If she had access to this highly developed Muggle version of potions, perhaps this explained her frustratingly instinctive understanding of one of the more mysterious branches of magical theory.

“Um…actually…when I told her about it she gave me a book to give you.”

Draco sunk his fingers into Potter’s arm.

“You _told_ Granger that _I_ am the one who is responsible for the destruction of my _godfather’s_ Potions laboratory, which is due to occur in just a few minutes?!?” Draco hissed.

“Well…yeah, she asked what happened in Potions…she was really interested, you know, though she did lecture about destroying school property. She won’t tell anyone, Malfoy.”

Draco lessened his grip, just slightly.

“Potter. You have to understand something. You may trust Granger, but _I don’t_! Nor do I want her knowing things about me that could _severely_ damage my relationship with my godfather, whom I hope to apprentice to in the near future! Damn you, Potter! I should have known better than to trust a Gryffindor with secrets!” Draco raged, his voice never raising above an angry hiss.

“I…Draco, she wouldn’t tell! Not even Ron. I tell her everything, and she would have figured it out when she heard about the explosion anyways. She’s not stupid, you know.” Potter hissed, trying to pull his arm away.

Draco forced himself to relax.

“In the future, Potter. If I ever am so stupid as to take you into my confidence again, I expect to be consulted before you inform anyone else.” Draco said tightly.

“Okay. I’m…uh…sorry.” Potter said awkwardly, finally pulling his arm away.

There was a long silence, which Potter broke to summon a rather familiar-looking house-elf to bring them popcorn of all things – a wizarding tradition that seemed rather out of place in their current circumstances. Draco held his silence, refusing the offer to partake in the autumn delicacy but leaving Potter to his eccentricities.

“So. This book. Where is it?”

“Oh! I have it here.” Potter took a tiny book from his pocket and unshrunk it before handing it to Draco.

It was yellow, with a non-moving picture of a man tinkering with some concoction in a glass beaker below a gaudy black banner bearing the title.

“Chemistry for Dummies?”

“Uh. It’s a series of books, they’re all sort basic introductions to the fundamentals of all sorts of different topics, for adults who never learned them but develop an interest late in life.” Potter explained.

“Chemistry?”

“It’s the Muggle term…‘Potions’ is still associated with magic, so they avoid it.” Potter added.

“I see.” Draco opened the book and found an odd chart.

“The Periodic Table” Potter said quickly.

“I can read the label, Potter.” Draco snapped.

“Oh. I mean, I recognized it. Muggle students have to memorize it.” Potter said.

“What _is_ it?”

“Um…well…Muggles don’t usually think of ingredients in terms of their origin. Like, lacefly wings, captured during a full moon, or whatever. Everything is actually made of mixtures of less complex substances…Muggles have identified the most basic substances that everything else is made of.”

“Except magic.”

“Yeah, of course. But all the basic substances _except_ magic, they’ve identified, and understand what they’ll do if you put any two of them together.” Potter said.

“That’s actually…quite advanced.” Draco admitted, impressed despite himself. “And Granger understands all this?”

“Well…she knows a lot about it. I can’t really talk to her about it without getting lost. Nobody can. Maybe you could-”

“Granger and I are _not_ exactly on speaking terms, Potter.” Draco reminded him.

“Yeah. Too bad.” Potter said, rather sadly.

Draco thought a moment. If he was going to switch the Malfoy family to the Light side, which it was looking more and more advantageous to do, it would be wise to ingratiate himself not only with Potter but with his friends.

Especially the muggleborn witch who was apparently not only scarily competent with magical research, but was also familiar with Muggle research that could vastly enhance Potions development.

“Potter. Does Granger have any definite plans for after graduation?” Draco asked suddenly.

“What?” Potter seemed quite startled by the question. “I think she was planning on university.”

“Which is…?”

“Um…higher education for Muggles.”

“I see.” Draco frowned. That would be a waste. “How do you think she would respond to an opportunity to engage in magical research instead?”

Potter sounded a bit shocked now.

“Um. I guess she’d like it. If it was…you know… _interesting_.” He said slowly.

“Hmm. I thought so.”

So. Granger would have to be offered a specific project. Probably put in charge of the project, considering her rather controlling personality. And…a project she would find interesting. Perhaps her interest would be snagged by a project to combine Muggle and magical theories for potions making?

CRACK!!!!

Draco’s head came up at the harsh sound, and Potter noticeably jumped beside him.

Draco turned to him with a smirk.

“Looks like it went a bit fast.”

“That was it? That didn’t sound so impressive.” Potter sounded disappointed.

“Oh. That was just the pressure-system shattering. There are now pieces of crystallized dragons-blood scattered all over the Potions lab, and especially inside that one cabinet. It’ll take them a moment to cool to lose their structure. Then the exploding acid will leak out and-”

Potter’s hand suddenly covered his mouth, Potter’s face turned towards something coming up the corridor. Draco turned his head to look, ignoring the fact that Potter’s hand had tracked the movement.

Severus Snape, accompanied by Albus Dumbledore, were hurrying down the corridor, Snape’s robe’s billowing out awesomely behind him.

“Shit!” Potter whispered in Draco’s ear.

“What?”

“It’s Professor Dumbledore! He can see invisible things!”

“Fuck. That’s not all.” Draco said. “The second explosion hasn’t gone off yet. If they’re inside, wait, what are you doing?”

Potter had taken out his wand, and was poking it carefully underneath the edge of the invisibility cloak, pointing it at the door.

“If you know any good locking charms, now’s the time.” Potter hissed, before he started casting at the closed door of the potions lab.

Fuck.

Draco pulled out his wand and followed Potters example.

“Obfirmo. Impedoportus. Torpeoportus. Torqueo probatur.”

Dumbledore looked straight at the two students, then turned his head away deliberately, that annoying all-knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Alohomora.” Snape said, then reached for the handle of the door, a look of confusion crossing over his face as it refused to move.

“Severus, my boy. It appears to be locked, with quite a variety of Light and Dark spells…hmm…quite creative, actually. Whomever is inside clearly does not wish to be interrupted.” The old man said, stroking his beard wisely.

“Albus. There is _someone_ in my Potions Laboratory, stealing _my_ potions, right under our very noses! You know which cabinet that alarm is for, some of those potions could be dangerous in a student’s hands!”

“Yes, yes, my boy. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Dumbledore drew his wand and started casting at the door.

“Shit! Those spells will never keep _him_ out!” Draco whispered into Potter’s warm hand.

“Don’t worry, look!” Potter said into Draco’s ear, causing him to shiver again. That damn “aftershave” was messing with Draco’s head again.

Dumbledore had stepped back slightly, where Professor Snape couldn’t see him, and was quietly countering the Potion’s Masters’ attempts to dispel the locks on the door.

“He’s…he’s…” Draco was gaping in disbelief at the blatant favoritism. The Headmaster was _actively_ covering for Potter!

“Shhh.” Potter’s hand was back on his mouth again.

“But Potter! He’s…he _can’t_ do that!”

“Shh.” Potter squeezed him slightly with a hand across his chest. Wait, when had that gotten there!

Then…

BANG…BANG…Ka-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-KA-BANG-BANG-BANG!

The many bits of acid were escaping their shards and exploding on contact with whatever they happened to touch.

Professor Snape stopped trying to unlock the door, his face going white, first with shock, then fury.

“My lab! They’re destroying my laboratory!” he sounded rather panicked, before resuming his assault on the door, the sounds of small explosions continuing on the other side of the door.

“Severus. Nothing to be done about it, I think. It’s fortunate the door was locked, or we would have been in the midst of that.” Dumbledore soothed the distraught Potions Master until the explosions subsided.

“Now then, let’s see the damage.” In moments, the old man reversed the warding on the door and ushered Professor Snape inside.

A roar of rage was heard from inside the Potions lab.

“I think that’s our cue to leave.” Draco said hurriedly, stuffing the muggle book into his robe pocket.

“Yeah.” Potter said breathlessly. He vanished the cushion, and then carefully huddled together on the stone floor as Draco surgically vanished the transfigured tent-frame, leaving them once again in close contact under the Cloak.

“You lead the way, Potter.” Draco whispered at the back of his neck…this time allowing his lips to graze against the skin, enjoying how that made the powerful wizard in his arms shiver with desire. A strange static energy was surging up Draco’s arms from where his hands contacted Potter’s hips…a powerful _sexual_ energy that made Draco’s manhood stand rigidly at attention inside his robes.

It wasn’t so bad, actually, having the most powerful wizard of an age completely besotted with you. Draco thought. Even if it was just because of a weird incest fetish.

Perhaps Potter could be persuaded to take the type of marriage bond that magically enforced the sexual attraction of the honeymoon throughout the duration of the marriage. That would keep Potter’s attentions focused on Draco, who knew exactly how greedy he could be, and avoid the undesireable complications of inviting his cousins or, god forbid, his parents, into their marriage bed to help satisfy Potter’s less socially acceptable cravings.

Draco allowed his erection to graze Potter’s backside briefly, causing Potter to moan and shake, a stab of that same energy slicing into his groin from the point of contact, burning in his veins. Merlin, _that_ was _power_!

Oh yes, Draco certainly would not mind having Potter’s attentions focused on him this way for quite a good long time. The Hundred-Year-Honeymoon spell would most certainly have to be among the many elements of the alliance, along with the decision of who was to carry the three Heirs they would need to produce for the various lines they represented between them, and of course things like doweries and such.

“Alright Potter?” Draco asked in his lowest voice, this time letting just his lips pull slightly at the shell of Potter’s ear, as if it had merely been in his way when he opened his mouth to speak. Potter shuddered, and Draco allowed his erection to bump into Potter’s backside once again.

The same surge of magic seared him again.

“Almost…there.” Potter gasped.

Draco smirked.

There really wasn’t any decision to make anymore. 

Draco knew exactly what he wanted.

And Malfoys, especially the Lords of Malfoy, _always_ went after what they wanted.

Draco had a feeling it really wouldn’t be all that difficult to get it, either.


	12. Muggle Research

Draco tossed the last muggle romance novel into the fireplace and watched it burn with some satisfaction.

Perhaps the Dark Lord had the right idea after all. Horrendous literature, these muggles had.

Somehow Draco didn’t see Potter reacting positively to the pathetic stratagems illustrated in the trashy literature he’d uncovered so far. Draco was sure these horrid tales had some connection to the, no doubt, nonsensical pre-negotiation courtship rituals that Potter would expect of him.

Draco congratulated himself once again for recognizing, in a stroke of brilliance, that the rarely-invoked wizarding traditions of adult courtship wouldn’t be sufficient – Potter would be expecting the Muggle rituals.

But…Draco was having a very hard time figuring out just _what_ those rituals were. Muggles were hopelessly casual and unregimented about things, they had none of the careful dances that magic ingrained into wizardfolk because the consequences of each gesture had no automatic magical result.

And as a result, their rituals seemed sporadic and without pattern to Draco’s unfamiliar eye.

Still. He had made some progress. Very little, but some.

Draco sighed as he looked down at the two lists he’d been making.

Under “Ritual Gifts” were “Flowers, (roses appear to be the most common)”, “Chocolate candies (apparently there is a ritually significant packaging that is highly important), “Jewelry (a pattern appears to progress from non-wearable artifacts, to earings or necklaces, with the most advanced such item being a locket, and finally a ring, which is symbolic of the actual marriage proposal).

These seemed fairly predictable bastardization of one of the courtship traditions common to poorer wizards: food, vine, and copper. 

Not that Draco would stoop to such a common ritual. For a union of three powerful families as Malfoy, Potter, and Black, nothing less than the royal traditions of heirloom, magic, and blood would be appropriate.

The “Ritual Proper” list, however, was baffling. 

“Abuse/Conflict” (appears to be an expected ongoing interaction, starting with the ritual of pulling hair during the pre-pubescent stage, to frequent argumentative behavior)

“Burden Carrying” (a disgustingly physical muggle practice, for which I intend to substitute a Wingardium Leviosa)

“Combat Tutoring” (appears to be centered primarily on tutoring in the use of Muggle projectile weapons, which apparently results in prolonged physical proximity)

“Poetry” (Absolutely not. As demonstrated by reaction to the Weasley girl’s attempt, this is clearly not something Potter appreciates.)

“Life-Debts” (Of course, this would be inappropriate, since calling in a life-debt during a marriage negotiation indicates a form of slavery rather than an alliance)

Draco had, of course, excluded from the list all the physical intimacies from handholding to lewdly described sexual acts…although some of those descriptions sounded anatomically challenging enough that Draco wondered if they were part of some bizarre muggle ritual.

Probably the last remnant of memories of old sexual magic, Draco decided. Which he would definitely have to look into, if he was going to be having sex with such a powerful being as Potter for the foreseeable future.

Draco cut off that line of thought before it led to another activity from research, altogether.

First he had to successfully secure Potter, himself.

Draco glared at the list. Each of the items seemed to make sense, even if a twisted sort of muggle-sense. But only individually. As a list…none of the items were consistent in every account of a courtship, and no predictable pattern was obvious to Draco.

Perhaps there was some formula that related the specific rituals to specific circumstances.

Draco picked up, what was as far as he could see, his best hope for a logical and precise analysis of the situation. There was one muggle book he’d ever read that made even a modicum of sense, and fortunately, it was part of a series.

Draco looked disdainfully at the insulting title:

“Romance for Dummies”

Whoever had come up with the name for the collection could be tortured later for their insolence, Draco decided. Preferably before the actual marriage, as he supposed his future husband would probably make the cessation of such behavior one of the conditions of the contract.

He flipped the cover open and found the table of contents, feeling frustration curdle in his stomach like sour milk as each of the chapter titles failed to apply to the situation:

“How to Win Your Mate All Over Again”…was clearly not relevant, as he and Potter were both quite human

“Inspiring a Romantic Revival”…might be useful after the 100-year-honeymoon charm had worn off, but not terribly helpful at this point

“Heating Up Your Sex Life”…promised for some _very_ entertaining reading, except Draco supposed the pictures wouldn’t be moving, but dirty-muggle-sex sounded quite kinky, actually…but not helpful in actually getting Potter to agree to a marriage contract

“Romancing Real Life”...looked like a possibility at first, but quickly turned out to be a guide for maintaining the marital relationship during the hubbub of grinding daily life as a muggle, which Draco and Potter would most certainly not be dealing with

And finally, “Troubleshooting Your Love Life”…which didn’t much help since Draco and Potter _had_ no love-life, or a prospect of one, until Draco could figure out how to court the damned muggle-raised Gryffindor.

Draco slipped a finger along the edge of the pages, watching as they fanned past, hoping for some chart like that Periodic Table in the chemistry book.

Nothing.

Draco let out a growl and tossed the useless book into the fire, where it quickly joined the pile of Harlequin novels in the process of becoming ashes.

Clearly, the Muggles were intent on keeping their courtship rituals secret.

There remained only one option. He would have to interrogate an actual Muggle.

That would mean going out and finding one, preferably a male who had some romantic experience with other males, isolating him from other Muggles, preferably in a controlled environment, and questioning him for advice on how to woe Potter.

Draco winced.

That would be a _lot_ of trouble, and probably result in having to Obliviate the muggle. Draco was very aware that memory charms were not one of his strengths.

There was also the fact that different types of Muggles probably had their own unique rituals that applied to them, according to status and bloodline. The chances of getting his hands on a Muggle of similar status to Potter was unlikely. 

His bloodline, though, there were those disgusting Durseleys for that.

Draco smiled grimly, wondering if they ranked high enough on Potter’s enemies list to satisfy the “blood” token of the wizarding courtship ritual.

Probably not, they were Potter’s own relatives, despite everything. And were listed lower on that list than Draco’s own name. 

It would probably have to be Voldemort himself. Or possibly his insane aunt Bellatrix. She _had_ killed Sirius, after all. Potter had tried to Crucio her.

But what about Potter’s status? The Dursley’s certainly didn’t have a status in the Muggle world that was similar to Potter’s status in the wizarding world. Draco wasn’t about to insult his future husband with an under-ranked gift, even in a stupid muggle ritual.

 _But_ perhaps Potter’s friends would know him well enough to be aware of the rituals that were proper to his status and bloodlines.

Draco smiled grimly.

He’d been meaning to talk to the muggleborn witch anyways. 

Now he had two reasons.

 

\- - - - -

 

“Now _honestly_ Justin, _you_ know that’s not proper procedure. If you want to make amendments to the proposition you have to make a motion while it’s in committee, not in the middle of a vote.” Granger was lecturing.

“So, as I was saying, all those in favor of Proposition four-hundred-twenty-six raise your wand, please.” Granger continued.

Slightly over half the wands in the room were raised. The rest of the room looked too bored to make a decision either way.

“And so the proposition carries. The Jelly-Legs Hex is heretofore reclassified as a Schedule B Hex with a maximum punishment of five house points, unless carried out against a student more than three years junior to the perpetrator.” Anthony Goldstein, the clerk of this meeting, announced.

Even the Ravenclaw sounded bored.

“And finally on the agenda today, Proposition four-hundred-twenty-seven…introduced by Prefect Finch-Fletchley…suggesting that Prefects be allowed to bring up to two guests at any one time with them into the prefects bath.”

That caught Draco’s attention, and he found himself gazing at the giggling Hufflepuffs speculatively. Perhaps their orgies _did_ involve sex, after all.

Interesting.

Draco raised his wand.

“Recognize, Prefect Malfoy of Slytherin.”

“Thank you. I’d like to suggest an amendment while this is still in committee.”

“Go ahead Mr. Malfoy.”

“Simply, that such permission be contingent on appropriate spells being cast _before_ such guests enter the prefects bath.” Draco said smoothly.

Granger looked at him in confusion.

“And what spells would be appropriate?”

“I would suggest the Chastity Spell, or, if the participants wish to be daring, the Protector of the Veil charm. Or some other variant to similar purpose.” Draco suggested.

“Excuse me? You mean…wait…are you trying to say that they have to practice ‘safe-sex’?” Granger asked incredulously.

“Well…I’m rather unfamiliar with the term. But there is the need to guard against students getting carried away and ending up disqualifying themselves for certain types of magical bonds. Or, worse, defaulting on a marriage contract.” Draco gave the Hufflepuffs a very stern look.

“Oh!” Granger was turning as red as her Weasel boyfriend now. “Well, I mean, I don’t see how…surely they wouldn’t misuse the Prefects Bath for…that…?”

“Granger, honestly. Look at them.” Draco drawled, indicating the clearly guilty look on Finch-Fletchley’s face.

“Oh! Well…perhaps Proposition four-twenty-seven isn’t such a great idea then.” Granger said, a bit haltingly.

“Nonsense! As long as the boundaries of the contracts, and the state of technical virginity is guarded by appropriate spells, I see no reason to interfere with their exploration. I do most certainly approve of the limit of two guests per prefect, however…that should keep your… _gatherings_ …to a somewhat reasonable size, hopefully, Finch-Fletchley?” Draco raised an inquiring eyebrow at the blushing Hufflepuff.

“Two guests _per prefect_ … _gatherings_!” Granger stammered.

“Come now, Granger, this is a boarding school.” Draco said reasonably. “Adolescents live here, grow up here together, away from their parents. Of course a good deal of experimentation will be going on. Best we control the location and make sure certain the children don’t accidentally give away something they don’t hold title to.”

“I…I…I” Granger was, remarkably, at a loss for words for a moment. “Oh dear! Look at the time! We’ll have to table this proposition for consideration at our next meeting. Adjourned!” she huffed, and immediately started bustling about gathering her many color-coded charts and even one impressive animating graph.

Draco approached.

“Granger, if you’re quite free, I’d like a private word?”

The Head Girl looked up at him, completely shocked at the polite request. 

Draco congratulated himself on stunning the normally irrepressible witch to silence twice in ten minutes.

“Granger?”

“I. Yes…I suppose so. Just…stay around till everybody clears the room I suppose.” She finally answered, slowing her movements with the rolls of parchment.

Draco just waited silently until the room was empty.

“I actually have two matters to talk to you about, the second being quite delicate.” He told her.

“Go on.”

Draco fished through his bag and came out with the “Chemistry for Dummies” book, holding it so Granger could see it.

“Harry…gave that to _you_?” She said, after staring at it in surprise for a moment.

“Yes. I actually found it quite fascinating. It sounds like the Muggles have developed some…theoretical approaches that could be fairly useful in potions making.”

“Well…yes, I’ve always thought so. The difference between what most of the students here do and what Professor Snape does is that they’re just following directions, while he _understands_ how each ingredient affects the magical properties of the potion!” Granger chattered excitedly, forgetting who she was lecturing.

“Yes. Quite.” Draco took the brief pause to cut off her torrent of speech. Even if she was quite right. “Well, after looking through this book, which I understand is just barely an introduction to the subject for someone with no knowledge whatsoever, I’ve come to a decision. I think these muggle theories should be developed in a magical context. There should be a Magical Periodic Table, to start with, and a deeper analysis of the properties within each magical ingredient and how they interact.”

“You’re right! That would be ever so fascinating! Muggles used to mix raw _natural_ ingredients together the way we do in potions, and only had limited success until they broke them down into their elements, and then they started creating _chemical compounds_ which are ever so much more powerful! If a similar breakthrough in magical properties could be achieved-”

“There’d be no limit to what could be done with such knowledge.” Draco finished for her with a smirk. “And since the Muggles have already gone through this breakthrough, I think all we need is someone familiar enough with how _they_ did it, and those who are familiar with the base theories of physical magic…to work together as a research team.” He added smugly.

“That…that would…” Granger stammered, wistfully.

“After reading that Chemistry for Dummies book…abominable title, by the way…I’ve decided to fund such a research project.” Draco said casually.

“ _You_? Funding a muggle-based study?”

“Well. Yes. If it works, if it’s profitable, of course.” Draco said shortly. “And further…I think you would be the ideal witch to head up the team.”

Granger squeaked, her mouth opening and closing. Draco just smirked and continued.

“You’d have state-of-the-art facilities, of course. I’d have a reasonably sized lab built according to your specifications, incorporating the very best of wizarding equipment and muggle technology. Then I suggest a research time of five, counting yourself. Two muggle chemists…preferably squibs unless we can get a special permit to get around the Statute of Secrecy. And two potions experts. And yourself, since you appear to know a bit about both.”

“I really only have a rather basic knowledge of chemistry, and I-”

“You’re a very clever witch, Granger. I’m sure you can figure it out. Oh, and of course there’d be a very generous stipend for yourself, and you and your team together would hold fifty percent interest in any intellectual property you generate.”

“That’s…a very attractive offer, Malfoy.” Granger finally said, looking completely stunned.

“I’m not expecting an answer right away.” Draco said. “Take your time to think about it. Not _too_ long…I’d like to see a proposal for your team members and some kind of outline of what equipment you’d need in time to have everything ready to start right after graduation, of course.”

“Right after-”

“Well, yes. I’m not going to expect you to skip your NEWTS, of course!” Draco chuckled.

Chuckling with a muggleborn. What is the world coming to?

“O…kay. I’ll think about it, Malfoy.” Granger told him.

“Good.”

Draco hesitated.

“Then…there was another matter. Which is _extremely_ sensitive. If…certain people knew I was even considering it, I’d probably be dead. And if _others_ knew I were considering it, I’d be greatly embarrassed. So I would like your agreement to keep it quite confidential, whether you decide to help me or not.”

Granger looked suspicious now.

“I’m not keeping any secrets if it would endanger-”

“Nothing to endanger anyone, I’ve written that into the agreement. See, Granger?”

Draco handed her the rolled up parchment. She perused it quickly, then nodded.

“I’ll agree to that.”

She signed her name at the bottom, next to Draco’s signature. The contract rolled itself up and disappeared with a pop.

Granger looked at him expectantly.

Draco was suddenly quite unsure how to go about asking her something like this. Finally he decided to be completely bold. She couldn’t tell anyone anything, after all.

“I’ve decided to seek a marriage contract with Potter.”

Granger stared at him, struck dumb for the third time. Finally,

“WHAT!?”

Draco held up his hand.

“I have reason to believe he would not be adverse to the idea. But…I also know he was raised by Muggles and…expects things to be handled very differently than what I am accustomed to. The courtship rituals…I’ve tried researching in Muggle literature, but haven’t found much of use on that front. As a personal confidant of Potter’s…you would know the rituals specific to his family and background, correct?”

“WHAT!?” Granger sputtered again. “But…but Harry’s not gay! And your father is Voldemort’s second-in-command for heaven’s sake! And you hate each other!”

Draco just looked at her a moment before responding.

“I really don’t know what Potter’s mood has to do with a marriage contract. But my father is no longer the Lord of Malfoy, I am, and will decide for the family myself. As for our past interactions, that was one of the most common muggle courtship rituals…is Potter from a sect that doesn’t utilize that particular ritual then? You see…I don’t _know_ enough to conduct this courtship properly in muggle terms! I’m seeking your advice as someone close to Potter, Granger.”

“His mood? Oh! I mean, I don’t see why you think Harry’d be attracted to you, since you’re a boy. He’s shown no sign of being…homosexual.” Granger said. “Are…are you saying you’re going to defy your father, and not be a Death Eater?”

“There’s no defying about it. I’m the Lord Malfoy. It’s my decision. Father …if he ever gets out of Azkaban, will abide by the decision of the Lord Malfoy. And…what do you mean Potter can’t be attracted to a boy? Has he said so? I know there are _some_ wizards who refuse to even entertain marriage contracts from men but I haven’t heard any hint of that from Potter. I am quite positive the physical attraction, at least, is mutual.”

“You’re serious.” Granger sagged. “Look, Malfoy. It might be a bit more complicated than you realize. In the muggle world, same-sex couples are often quite looked down on. Those who have tendencies in that direction, if discovered, are looked down on. I’m pretty sure Harry’s relatives are quite homophobic. If…if you have some reason to think Harry’s attracted to you, and I have no idea why you’d think that, he’ll probably resist it because he won’t think it’s _normal_.”

Draco gaped at her.

“What do you mean, not _normal_? Most wizards never even bother with girls until they’re married! Too much worry about bastard children or accidentally piercing the veil!”

Granger sighed.

“It’s…it’s a muggle thing. Religion. I’ve never talked to Harry about it, really. I’m just telling you what he’s probably grown up around.”

Draco thought back to the self-loathing that was mixed in with the feelings of lust and love, when he’d found that item on the Conditions chart. Not to mention Potter crying in despair after wanking himself silly over Draco.

“Merlin. You’re right. Damn those muggles. This is going to be complicated.” Draco muttered.

Granger looked at him carefully.

“You’re serious, aren’t you. Since when did you go from trying to kill Harry to wanting to marry him? If I’m going to help you, I really need to know what you’re after, Malfoy.”

Draco looked up at her.

“Aside from being the most powerful wizard of his age, the heir to two family fortunes, and the hero of the wizarding world?”

Granger grimaced.

“Aside from those.”

“Well, I really hate to say it but when we were staking out the Potions room the other night I suddenly noticed Potter is bloody gorgeous.” Draco said reluctantly. “And, he’s cleverer than I thought. And he’s…well…”

“What?!” Granger pressed.

“Admirable.” Draco admitted.

“You admire…Harry?” Granger asked incredulously.

“I didn’t come here to discuss Potter’s attributes, Granger!” Draco snapped. Perhaps a bit defensively.

Granger smiled. A big, horrible, understanding smile. Like Draco was some sort of cute puppy dog that had just bit her hand trying to get at a toy.

That was it, Draco was not going to sit here and be treated like some harmless infant dog. He drew himself up, pulling his dignity around him like a cloak.

“Fine then. Let me know what you decide about the research project, Granger.” He said coldly, sweeping towards the door.

“Malfoy.” Granger said softly from behind him. “You might try talking to him. Harry values honesty above all.”


	13. Consultations

“Oh! Darling, I’m so glad you came! These house-elfs keep moving _furniture_ , and they won’t tell me where they’re putting some of my favorite pieces!” Narcissa Malfoy swept into the floo atrium where Draco and Severus Snape had just arrived.

“Don’t worry about it mother, I know where they are.” Draco said dismissively, then leaned in to kiss his mother’s ivory cheek. Her hand rested on his arm, just above the elbow, thumb tensing inward between the first and second vein. _Is everything truly well, or are you prevaricating for unwanted eyes?_

Draco sighed. He’d nearly forgotten about the movement of the more sacred Malfoy heirlooms currently going on in the house, his mother was doubtlessly frantic and paranoid with concern.

He neatly intercepted her hand as it left his arm, pressing two fingers into two pads of her palm in quick succession. _Everything is as it should be._

“And Severus, so lovely to see you again. Can I offer you some tea?”

“Narcissa. Exquisite as always. Yes, that would be most welcome.” Professor Snape gave a slight bow of the head to the lady of the house, then cast a rather sullen look in Draco’s direction.

“Draco?”

“Entertain Severus for now, Mother. I have some family business to take care of first.” Draco smiled at his mother reassuringly.

“Very well, let’s go into the Emerald Room, Severus.”

“I’ll join you in one hour, mother, Severus.” Draco bid them farewell and headed briskly for his office.

“Wobbly.”

“Yes Master Draco!” the house elf materialized.

“Have our barristers meet me in my office in thirty minutes.”

“Yes Master Draco! Is Master Draco wishing to see all of them together?”

“No. The primary, and the marital specialist will be sufficient. Make sure the wards don’t let any individuals through that aren’t bound to the Family.”

“Yes Master Draco! Wobbly is making haste!” The elf disappeared.

Draco walked into his office and immediately opened the entrance to the sublevel. Minutes later, he was walking once again into his father’s scroll chamber with it’s treasure trove of information.

The scroll was already laying out on the low table. Draco unrolled it and tapped his wand to the icon of a shield with a crack in it.

The Lord Voldemort snarled up at him from his spot in the middle of the page, fearsome as any child’s worst nightmare.

But the six items scattered around the Dark Lord only brought a mocking smirk to the lips of the young Lord Malfoy.

 

Ten minutes later Draco returned to his office, and let the two solicitors in.

“Good evening Lord Malfoy.”

“Good evening, Barrister Murdock, Barrister Seymour.” Draco greeted them, seating himself behind the forboding desk comfortably.

“I take from your selection of Barrister Seymour to attend the meeting, that you wish to finalize matters with the Parkinsons?” Barrister Murdoch asked…solicitously.

“And for once you are quite incorrect, Solicitor Murdoch. I in fact wish to dissolve the contract formed by my father, and also seek your help in drafting and negotiating a new contract with another party.” Draco corrected him.

“I…see. Well, as you know that contract was quite thorough. The only ways to break the contract are if Miss Parkinson is ineligible for the bond by reason of invirginity, conflicting Life Debt, or of course _Beneficium Superus_. Has Miss Parkinson committed an indiscretion, then?” Barristor Seymour asked.

“Not to my knowledge.” Draco smirked. “I’m more interested in Beneficium Superus.”

“The…the Dark Lord has expressed an interest?” Seymour asked, face pale.

“Of course not. The Dark Lord has no interest in that sort of thing.” Draco retorted. “Besides, he’s heir of only one founder. I’ve found an heir of Slytherin _and_ Gryffindor most certainly _does_ have such an interest.”

“Slytherin… _and Gryffindor_? A mutual heir? Such an alliance would surely be public knowledge-”

“Oh. It’s public knowledge. It just wasn’t an alliance.” Draco said smugly. “Just a bit of magic gone wrong.”

“Who?” Seymour breathed, sounding faint.

“I’ll give you a hint. The known heir of Slytherin tried to cast a powerful spell on the Gryffindor, and it went wrong. I’m sure you read about it in the papers.”

“Merlin. You mean Harry Potter!” Murdoch exclaimed.

“None other.”

“How…”

“My understanding of the mechanics is limited. Suffice to say that a surreptitious magical test showed Potter to be full magical heir to the Dark Lord.”

It was a credit to both lawyers how quickly they recovered from their personal shock.

“Well then. The heir of _two_ founders will certainly qualify as an overriding prospect for Beneficium Superus. I hope you haven’t started negotiations before consultation from counsel.” Seymour said, all business.

“Of course not. I did mention to him the possibility of a contract between Potter and Black, suggesting a contract between Lord Potter and my newly discovered cousin Jamina Black. He refused outright…I was fortunate enough to learn some time later that he has a particular interest in myself, instead.”

“Has he expressed this directly?”

“Of course not! We’re rivals at school!” Draco retorted. “However, he has made what could be considered overtures of alliance. And there is considerable sexual tension as well, which is always helpful in this type of negotiation.”

“Well then, I’m sure you’ve thought about appropriate rituals. Heirloom, Magic, and Blood would not be out of place, if you are correct about his heirship.” Seymour said.

“Yes, I agree.”

“Have you given thought to the items?”

“The heirloom needs to be appropriately ancient, but not Dark, obviously. I’m thinking perhaps the Crystal Sceptre for that. Given Potter’s situation _vis a vis_ the War, I think the Magic should take the form of a protective charm.” Draco told them.

“A Protective Charm linked to your own magical core can be quite dangerous for you, Lord Malfoy.” Murdoch cautioned.

“I’ll make sure the spell is appropriately phrased. I don’t think Potter expects me to take a Killing Curse for him. Perhaps something potions-based.”

“And for Blood?” Seymour asked.

Draco just looked at the two lawyers.

“Who do you think?”

“You can’t be serious.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t I be? Do I have to cast the deadly curse, or is it sufficient to provide the opportunity for personal vengeance?”

“It would have to be more than an opportunity…you would have to essentially offer the Dark Lord up on a platter. Lord Malfoy, I beg you to consider your limitations. Given his magical inheritances, the Lord Potter may be a worthy adversary the Dark Lord, but you are not.”

Draco laughed.

“I do not intend to cross wands with the Dark Lord. I am a Malfoy. We deal in other men’s deepest secrets. Even the Dark Lord has his weaknesses.”

The two barristers looked at each other fearfully. Clearly, wondering which side of the war they were on outside this office. The binding spell segregated their thoughts, they could only consider the matter of Malfoy, or of their own lives, but not at the same moment and never in reference to each other.

“I do have one other matter that I could use your considerable contacts on, however.” Draco said carefully. “Which is somewhat outside your role as barristers. I would prefer this be done by those who are bound to me. It would enable you to consider a shadow of this development outside your duties here.”

“You would…allow us to take these memories home with us?” Murdoch asked, incredulous.

“Of course not. But the nature of this task will give you a strong hint, before the fact, that I am courting Potter. And even outside this room you would know that Malfoys are always very clever about choosing the winning side.”

“What is it?” Seymour asked, eagerly.

“Potter is Muggle-raised. In my interactions one thing is clear, that he knows nothing of wizarding traditions. I know nothing about the appropriate rituals and conventions he would expect. I’ve attempted to research this myself, with little success. I’ve even approached a close associate of his, receiving only very terse advice. In my dealings with Potter I know him to be quite tenacious about his Muggle values. I expect success in negotiation will depend on observation of _all_ the niceties, including the Muggle ones. Can you find out what they are, please?”

“I…Seymour, isn’t your secretary married to a Half-blood?”

“Yes, you’re right. And I’m quite sure you have some interns in your department who have their connections to that world. There’s that young fellow, with the spiky hair, who’s always bespelling Muggle music onto the queue at the social gatherings.”

“Benedict. Yes, and a few others two, I’ve seen what I’m sure are some converted Muggle artifacts as well.” Murdoch said. “Yes Lord Malfoy, we can make some discreet inquiries. From what I know of the Muggle world, their traditions seem to be divorced from their technicalities, it’s likely the answers can only be found by questioning actual Muggles.”

“Good then. Thank you gentlemen, I look forward to your prompt report.” Draco said, ushering them towards the fireplace.

The lawyers had barely left when he heard his mother’s soft knock on the door.

“Draco? Are you busy?”

“Come in mother.”

Narcissa stood silently in the doorway, watching him sit behind the desk for a moment.

“Is something the matter Mother?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Dragon, just thinking how time flies, and how you look so much like your father.”

Draco smiled at his childhood nickname.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention about the heirlooms, Mother.”

“What _is_ going on, Draco?”

Draco dropped into the Malfoy mask to let his mother know he was serious.

“I’ve been moving assets and heirlooms into one of the family boltholes, Mother.”

“Boltholes!”

Draco looked steadily at her.

“Potter, I’ve discovered, is much more powerful than he appears. It’s very likely Lucius chose the wrong side in this war.” He said.

Narcissa sat down carefully, her fear evident in her eyes. She was only Malfoy by birth, her mask was a learned thing, easy for Draco to see through.

“Oh Dragon, and you’ve hated each other for years!”

Draco leaned forward, taking one of her smooth white hands in his own.

“Things change, Mother.”

Her head came up at the significant tone of his voice.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re changing sides, Mother. I’m mending the rift in the most ancient tradition.” Draco told her.

Narcissa Malfoy stared at him, speechless.

“Marriage? But Draco, the boy’s mother was Muggle-born! Your father’s line-”

Draco cut her off:

“As Potter is likely to be _the_ most powerful wizard of this age, I’d say the muddy blood has been quite adequately cultivated and reclaimed.”

“For marriage to a lower pureblood line, yes. But neither Malfoy _nor_ Black has taken on dirty blood so close to the source, Draco! Our ancestral magics will be diluted!”

“Our ancestral magic will be delighted to be joined to that of _two_ Founders, Mother. I’ve done my research, Potter is far more than merely eligible. _If_ I can successfully court his contract, this union will be a powerful enhancement to Malfoys for generations to come.”

“ _Two_ Founders, Draco?”

“Potter is the Dark Lord’s magical heir.”

“Oh. Oh my. But what if you cannot gain his contract?”

“I happen to know that Potter dreams of domestic bliss with a certain rival of his.” Draco smirked. “It’s simply a matter of turning them from empty dreams to a possible reality in his mind.”

Narcissa smiled.

“You will need the support of his friends.”

“Yes. I’ve already approached Miss Granger about a research position after she graduates. His Blood-gift will please Dumbledore. And I’m considering the Crystal Sceptre as a suitable Heirloom.”

“That will gain you the werewolf.” Narcissa noted.

“There is only the Weasleys. I don’t see how I could possibly cause them to support a union between Potter and Malfoy.” Draco said.

“That _is_ difficult. What form of Magic?”

“A strong Protection.”

His mothers eyebrows raised.

“You _are_ serious about this! If even a fraction of what the Prophet prints is the truth, that could leave you magically drained…”

“Well, as long as it’s only temporary, I think it’s a worthwhile investment.” Draco said. “There are limitations that can be placed to insure that.”

“But Dragon, you wouldn’t even be able to cast a Lumos! Possibly for months!” she protested.

“I am aware of that, Mother.” Draco said, raising a hand in a motion he’d learned from his father, effectively cutting off her arguments.

She quieted immediately, recognizing the gesture, but her eyes narrowed as she studied Draco carefully.

“Draco…there’s something else, isn’t there? You’ve hated this boy, and now…this? This goes beyond personal sacrifice for the family, doesn’t it?”

Draco was silent, thankful for the demeanor training that successfully prevented the blood from rushing to his face.

It wasn’t enough.

“You want him.” She observed quietly. “This is about you as much as it is about Malfoy.”

“ _Mother_. I am not going to speculate with _you_ of all people about the sexual side-effects of intercourse with a being as powerful as Potter!” Draco snapped.

“No, no. I don’t mean your silly adolescent lusts, Dragon. You’ve always wanted him, haven’t you? It was never about Quidditch! Your fascination with Quidditch has always revolved around the Gryffindor seeker!”

“No, Mother. You’re very wrong. Until recently I hated and despised Potter.” Draco corrected her.

Narcissa just smiled a very glittery Black smile at him, her eyes almost malicious with glee.

“I still remember all the chatter about the ‘pretty green-eyed boy’ at Madame Malkins. Once we realized who you had met your father was of a mind to forbid you from associating with him…of course I changed his mind, I doubt that’s a battle he would have won at that age.”

“I did _not_ think Potter was ‘pretty’.”

“Well you certainly said so. You were convinced you should have him as a pet, and then when you discovered his identity you decided he would be your best friend.”

“Father _ordered_ me to make him my best friend.” Draco objected.

“No. Lucius ordered you to make yourself _his_ best friend,” she corrected him. “And you were rejected entirely, making you the most unhappy child at Hogwarts.”

“I was not unhappy.”

“Dragon.” His mother sighed. “ _You_ are the Lord Malfoy now. Not Lucius. If you can make your personal goals coincide with the welfare of the family, you should not be ashamed of what it is that you want.”

Draco let his eyes meet hers for a moment, and nodded slowly.

“I have Seymour and Murdoch investigating how to properly woo a muggleborn.” He told her.

“Lawyers? You’ve assigned a couple of _barristers_ to figure out how to woo the boy?! Dragon, are you quite well?” she scoffed.

“Well, I asked his friend Granger and she wasn’t extremely forthcoming. She would only tell me to be ‘honest’ with Potter.”

“Hmm. Yes that would fit with the Potter traditions. If I recall James Potter was quite shameless in his pursuit of Lily Evans. It was quite painful to watch, especially since she gave him no encouragement, and in fact could barely stand the sight of him. Still, I suppose it worked in the end. No one was laughing at him during their wedding.”

“I am _not_ going to follow Potter around like a werewolf in heat.” Draco stated with certainty.

“Of course not, dear. You’ve spent five years dogging his steps like a jealous veela instead.” Narcissa smirked. “I think the intensity of your feelings is well-known. You simply need to express that they have changed their nature.”

“Yes. But I don’t know the language of Potter’s muggle upbringing.” Draco said.

“No, you wouldn’t. But Potter was raised by his sister’s family, dear.” Narcissa reminded him. “And your own mother happens to have been at Hogwarts at the time James Potter conducted his unwelcomed courtship. I expect the tokens of interest a Potter used were well-fashioned, if unwisely aimed.”

Draco considered his mother. She was right. Well, partially right. The wooing she had witnessed was the most recent one, involving both of Potter’s parents. It would form a basic map of explanations. But Potter’s Muggle upbringing would likely be somewhat different from what his parents would have provided.

“You’re right. I should have sought your counsel first of all. I don’t think the Potter’s courtship can be our only source, though. I have the sense that Lily Evan’s sister and brother-in-law are quite dissimilar to Potter’s parents. One thing Granger did tell me is that she believes that they are…what she calls ‘homophobic’. They would strongly disapprove of a courtship between males.” Draco said.

“Really? How bizarre. I seem to remember some fuss about that from a few muggleborns during my own Hogwarts years, I suppose. You wouldn’t want to approach them yourself, then.”

“No. But _you_ could. You don’t have to mention to them that I’m a wizard.” Draco suggested.

Narcissa smiled gracefully.

“I’m sure I can handle it. I don’t think you should wait, though. If I recall correctly, Potter reaches his majority in less than a year. If you don’t act quickly you’ll be competing with suitors who are already entrenched with the Light.”

“You’re right. Tell me about the last Potter courtship, please?”

“Well. Roses seem to be a very important first step in declaring interest. Red roses, specifically: I suspect there’s some sort of symbolism relating to the act of consummation. James almost made it a calling card of his, during the years that Lily refused his interest. A single, long-stemmed red rose, the gossips seemed to think it was symbolic of their combative relations that the thorns were not removed. Something to keep in mind with Harry Potter, I think.”

“Roses, yes, they were prevalent in some of the muggle literature I sifted through.” Draco agreed. “There was also jewelry…I noticed a hierarchy of jewelries based on the progression of the relationship, leading up to a ring which was symbolic of marriage itself.”

“True, but if I recall James avoided attempts to give jewelry until Lily had agreed to escort him on a date to Hogsmeade, at which point he gave her a small jade comb. I think you should avoid jewelry for now. The rose seems a powerful enough symbol. The meaning behind the intent should be expressed separately, however. Through smaller, practical and most importantly _thoughtful_ gifts.”

“Thoughtful in what way?”

“Specially suited to the receiver, and the situation. They should show attentiveness to the minor needs and wants of the one you are pursuing. I believe the reason Lily finally took James seriously enough to allow him that one date was that he gifted her with a quill that would make a small noise when it needed re-inking – apparently Lily had the frustrating habit of not noticing that she was scratching with a dry quill until she looked down at several lines of fruitless writing.” Narcissa explained.

Draco thought about that for a moment. After five years of watching is every move, he was sure he knew every mannerism and every foible Potter exhibited. It would be easy to translate that awareness into solutions for Potter’s small frustrations.

“I can do that.”

Narcissa smiled at him.

“I have a feeling young Lord Potter is in for a few surprises.”


	14. Heirloom

The note that would accompany the first gift was a work of art in itself. Intricate swirls of calligraphy covered the rich gold parchment, gracefully drawing the eye to the words themselves.

The phrasing of the letter was according to the traditional formula for the first stage of the Heirloom, Magic, Blood ritual.

Heirloom, Magic, and Blood usually required a contrived meeting between the two children being contracted for, and the salutation of the Heirloom gift was normally the sole input from the suitor-child in the process.

It was to be the child’s own description of their proposed future spouse, upon first setting eyes on them.

_For the Very Pretty Boy in Madame Malkins, with the Big Green Eyes_

Draco winced at the embarrassingly unreserved descriptor. He knew his mother wouldn’t have lied to him about something this important, but it rankled to have his childish words broadcast again in a current missive.

Then the traditional message in the hand of the current Lord of the Suitor Family, identifying the gift as a family heirloom and an offer of alliance between the families.

_Ancestors Malfoy offer this token to the Seed of Potter, and beg consideration in unity._

And then the traditionally cryptic explanation for the selection of this particular heirloom as a gift for the child being courted.

_That burdens lifted will rejuvenate the lifter._

Draco considered the phrase. After seeing in the scroll how Potter agonized over the pains of his friends, he knew the Sceptre was the perfect gift for the Gryffindor.

Satisfied, he tapped his wand on the gift, and the note, and uttered the incantation that would summon its magical courier.

 

\- - - - -

 

It was in Care of Magical Creatures that they appeared.

Two enormous swans, gliding in to land gracefully before the Golden Trio, each holding the end of a bright red ribbon in it’s beak, suspending the long, slender package between them.

Draco positioned himself carefully, downwind of the three.

“Look ‘Mione, swans! I didn’t know they carried packages!”

Potter leaned towards the nearer of the pair, admiringly petting its long curved neck.

“Most any bird can be trained, Harry. Owls are just more intelligent than most.” Granger lectured. “What’s wrong Ronald?”

Weasley was staring dumbfounded at the swans.

“Melin! ‘Mione, those swans aren’t delivering just any package! This is…I wonder who it’s for.”

Weasley reached for the package only to recoil as one of the swans snapped at his hand.

He laughed nervously, putting the offending hand behind his back.

“Not me, I guess.”

He sounded relieved.

“Ronald? What kind of packages do swans carry?”

The muggleborn imitated his attempt to touch the package, with the same result. The two turned to look at Harry, who was still petting the other swan.

“Harry…I think it’s for you.” Granger told him.

“But what is it?” Harry asked, looking distrustfully at the long, slender package.

“There’ll be a note.” Weasley told him. “Look on its back, between the shoulderblades.”

Harry obeyed and pulled out a note.

“Ron. What kind of packages do swans carry?” Granger whispered urgently.

Weasley grimaced.

“Marriage proposals.”

Potter dropped the small slip of paper like it had burned him.

“What!”

“Well, not actual proposals. But they’re the first step before actually asking.” Weasley told him.

Potter looked at the paper.

“Who’s it from, mate?”

“I _told_ him I’m not interested in her!” Potter growled his annoyance.

“Mate, _who_?” Weasley asked anxiously.

“Malfoy! I told you he suggested I should marry Jamie! She’s a first-year for heavens sake!”

“Yeah, well he _did_ have a point. Stupid Blacks only having two children at a time…but that’s a lot of magic to just sit around going even worse than it is.” Weasley said.

“Let me see the note.” Granger said, then read it aloud. “For the very pretty boy in Madame Malkins, with the big green eyes…what?”

“You met Jamie before the Sorting?” Weasley asked, surprised.

Potter’s eyes were suddenly going big in realization, obviously he was cluing in to the fact the proposal wasn’t about Jamie.

“No, never.” He whispered.

Granger continued reading.

“Ancestors Malfoy offer this token to the Seed of Potter-”

“Malfoy!” Weasley all but shrieked. “ _Malfoy_ ’s trying to-”

Weasley lunged and snatched the note out of Granger’s hand, his mouth opening and closing in shock as he read the fancy script.

“Oh! I recognize this phrase! It’s Heirloom, Magic, Blood! Harry, that’s the most prestigious wizarding courtship ritual in existence, it’s strictly for royalty!” Hermione gasped.

“Heirloom, Magic, Blood.” Weasley whispered in awe, sounding a bit sick. “Harry, you don’t think Malfoy knows about the Sword of-”

“Hush Ronald! Of course he knows! That’s the only possible explanation for this!”

“I don’t…understand…” Potter…no, _Harry_ was looking a bit faint, staring at the swan he’d been petting as if it had bitten him.

“It’s an old traditions, three specific kinds of gift…all of them priceless and chosen especially for the prince or princess being courted.”

“Malfoy thinks I’m…a _prince_?”

“You’re the Heir of Gryffindor, Harry.” Granger said dismissively. “Anyways. The first is a very old family heirloom. I wonder what Malfoy chose…surely not something dark I hope!”

“But…what about the note!”

“Oh…it’s a formula. The first part tells what his first impression was of you. ‘The very pretty boy with big green eyes’…awww.” She teased.

Harry blushed crimson.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Weasley said, looking rather sick indeed.

“Then there’s just the bit identifying the families and asking for an alliance by marriage, and the last bit is a hint to why they chose that particular heirloom. ‘Burdens lifted will rejuvenate the lifter.’ Hmmm, I wonder what it is.”

“You can’t possibly think he should _open_ it, ‘Mione!” Weasley protested.

“Does opening it mean I accept the…proposal?” Harry asked tentatively.

“No. Just that you might be interested.” Weasley said shortly.

“Ronald. _Not_ opening an Heirloom gift is _beyond_ an insult! It’s…it’s almost like declaring blood feud!” Granger scolded him.

“With _Malfoy_ , remember? We’re already-”

“No. _You’re_ just _had_ a blood feud with the Malfoys, Ron. Which was _not_ helpful to your family at all! Surely you don’t think Harry should start the same thing right now! Especially since he’s the _only_ Potter, as it is!”

Weasley looked chagrined.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, mate. You should open it, at least. You can always return it to Malfoy by the end of the day, we’ll help you with the proper polite refusal.”

“So open it Harry!” Granger urged.

Harry tentatively poked at the package before carefully tearing the wrapping from it.

Draco watched him carefully, noticing how his hands just barely shook as he took out the single, long-stemmed rose, not seeming to notice the pinpricks of the thorns as he raised the bloom to his face. Eyes fluttering closed to inhale deeply…

“Harry? Mate, you’re bleeding. Bloody hell! Only _Malfoy_ would somebody a flower with thorns all over it, the vicious git!” Weasley growled, outraged.

“I’m fine Ron.” Harry said, the moment broken, and he reverently placed the plant on the ground as he reached for the remaining contents of the package.

Granger and Weasley let out gasps of delight as the slender Sceptre came into view.

“Oh Harry! It’s beautiful! Look at the jagged angles, this wasn’t cut or carved, it was grown! And it’s pure diamond, it must have taken decades to create!” Granger breathed.

“What is it?”

“It’s something for lifting burdens, I think. I can’t imagine how!”

“It rejuvenates the lifter…probably takes something away from whoever you use it on. It _is_ from Malfoy, it’s got to be something Dark.” Weasley said bitterly.

Draco decided it was time to make his entrance.

“It’s called the Crystal Sceptre. It’s been in my family for 600 years.” He sneered at Weasley. “And it is _not_ a Dark artifact. I’m not _stupid_ Weasley.”

“What does it do?” Granger asked tentatively.

Draco ignored her and turned to Harry.

“It would be improper for me to tell you how to use it. I’ll say that in the hands of my ancestors, it has been used to devour wards, and on one occasion, to drain the magical energy from an enemy. Quite painful, I understand.”

Harry recoiled from the beautiful object in horror.

Draco smirked at the reaction before he continued.

“Of course, before my ancestor acquired it, the Sceptre was originally created to lift curses by absorbing their magical energy. According to legend, in the hands of an _incredibly_ powerful wizard, it can be used to cure lycanthropy.”

Harry looked back at the scepter, touching it lightly like a truly precious thing, and then looking up at Draco again.

“Like Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore can’t use it. It is a family heirloom, it can only be used by the family that owns it.” Draco said curtly.

Harry blinked.

“I can’t possibly be powerful enough-” he objected.

Draco smirked knowingly at the Gryffindor.

“Do you think I would be sending you this gift if I believed that?”

“But-”

Draco held out his hand, his wand balanced sideways across it.

“Placitum Perago is acknowledged magically by a short wave with a _wand_ , Potter.”

“Harry? What’s he talking about?” Granger asked. Harry ignored her.

The two stared each other down for a moment.

Harry swallowed.

“I…I mean…um…” He closed his eyes. “Thank you. Malfoy.”

There was a very protesting noise from Weasley, which Granger promptly quashed with a hand over his mouth.

“Draco.” Draco corrected.

Harry’s eyes opened, pinning Draco’s once again.

Slowly, he nodded.

“Draco.” He repeated.

Draco nodded crisply, spun to leave.

He just barely heard Granger mutter behind him.

“Well-played, Malfoy.”

 

\- - - - -

 

The Great Hall was in uproar.

The rumor that Harry Potter had received a beautiful artifact via two swans had taken only two periods to spread through the entire school, and lunch was now the first chance for everyone to openly compare notes.

The Ravenclaws were speculating on the identity of the translucent rod that had been spotted, as well as the implications of what could only be Heirloom, Magic, Blood – the rumors from second year about Harry Potter being the Heir of Slytherin were being brought up again and ruthlessly analyzed.

The Slytherins were very interested in Potter’s possible status as heir of a Founder, although they quite sneered at the idea he could be any kin to their own Salazar Slytherin. Obviously he was a Gryffindor. But the reminder of even this dubious honor had them quite buzzing about the changes to the complex system of blood-politics that such a royal marriage would inevitably create. But…to _whom_ would such a marriage be contracted? And would Potter be marrying beneath himself, as a royal marrying non-royal…or should he be considered marrying beyond his station, since he was a half-blood? The debate ranged on…

The Gryffindors were in quite an uproar as well. Their hero was being courted and they had no idea by whom, but some mutters from Ron Weasley had made it clear that the unknown suitor was of the _wrong sort_ , so they were discussing whether or not it was a trap. The Golden Trio themselves were up by the Head table, whispering furiously with the Headmaster about something.

And the Hufflepuffs…Draco forced himself to look at that table, because it wasn’t wise to blind oneself even to distasteful sights, but quickly turned away in horror. The Hufflepuffs were… _sighing_ …repeatedly…and cooing to each other in low urgent voices about beautiful glistening white swans, and roses, and mysterious gifts from the ancient past, and a secret admirer, and oh, isn’t Harry so _adorable_ , and _oh_ how _romantic_ and _sweet_ this magical courtship business all is!

Draco shuddered, and distracted himself by looking over at the center of all this attention.

Harry stood quietly between Granger and Weasley, not appearing to pay much attention to them as Weasley turned bright red with anger, and Granger gesticulated with authority at the Sceptre that lay on the table before Dumbledor, who simply twinkled knowingly in Harry’s direction. 

But Harry Potter was just standing there, staring at the tabletop as if it held a hundred mysteries, lightly holding the thorny rose by the stem with one hand while the other lightly stroked the soft petals with an absent-minded thumb.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Jamie asked him quietly.

Draco looked at her in surprise, but nodded.

“You like him.” She said, sure of herself.

Draco shook his head.

“The Black line-”

“You were staring at him, just now. You always look at him, you know.” She interrupted.

“He’s…important.” Draco said.

“You like him.” She repeated.

Draco just looked at her, young, wise grey eyes peering at him.

“Maybe.” He admitted.

She smiled.

“Good. I think he likes you too.”

“I know.”

“You two are silly, fighting all the time if you both like each other.”

“We’ve been fighting for a long time.”

She snorted, and Draco frowned in censure at the impolite sound.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to stop being stupid _now_ , at least.” She said happily.

Draco raised an eyebrow. He supposed she was partially right. He gave her a small smile.

“So am I, dear cousin. So am I.”

Draco felt the eyes of Severus Snape on him and looked up, making sure his Occlumency shields were secure.

His godfather’s expression was somewhere between disgust and admiration…Draco knew the man recognized the Sceptre, even if Dumbledore didn’t fill him in. He’d know where it came from, and probably was surprised that Draco had taken his advice...and used his stolen memory…in such an extreme way.

Draco winked at the man. Using Potter’s feelings towards him to manipulate him into accepting a truce, enabling the Malfoys to survive a generation dominated by an immensely powerful Light wizard…that would be the strategy Snape would have used. The one he was subtly pushing Draco towards.

But Draco was a Malfoy. Malfoys _always_ reached for the greatest gain possible in every situation. Like Draco was going to sit idly by, ‘surviving’, when the most powerful wizard of his age…who just so happened to be bloody gorgeous…was available and ripe for the claiming.

Severus Snape bored into him with his eyes, finding the shield in place and giving up the Legilmency. His head tipped slowly in a nod of respect.

Draco looked at the Golden Trio again.

Harry had just snatched up the Crystal Sceptre, and said something to Weasley that left him gaping like a fish, and swept out of the Great Hall, the rose still clutched in one bloody hand.

Draco smirked.

The Gryffindor was _so_ his.


	15. Friends in Just the Right Places

The Common Room was abuzz with plotting Slytherins. From first year to seventh, every one of them was in that house because they were natural schemers with a flair for the intricacies of the higher branches of wizarding politics – not the public politics of who was running for Minister, but the more subtle intricacies of who was indebted to whom. Or allied with, influenced by, held influence over, was related to, in feud against, or as in this case, negotiating with…

Potter had, of course, been a long-absent member of this massive chess game. First James had incited controversy by marrying a mudblood, and then the two of them had gone into hiding under the Fidelius, and then been assassinated, and their only heir had disappeared into the Muggle world.

And now, the Potters were suddenly back on the scene, their previous disgrace quite muted by the fact that the Lord Potter was also the Lord of the Great and Noble House of Black…and the bloody Boy-Who-Lived…and on top of those was now being publicly acknowledged by an unknown suitor as the Heir of either Gryffindor or Slytherin, depending on who you asked.

In short…a family that had fallen off the radar for a generation was suddenly a powerhouse in blood-politics…and was clearly being courted by one of the more prestigious families…but which one?

“I still think it has to be the Gloryflowers. They’re the most prestigious Light family besides Dumbledore, and they’d be using one of the Greek rituals at their age.” Pansy was saying.

“Have you _seen_ Elsbeth Gloryflower, Pansy? There’s no way Potter would have kept an Heirloom from her.” Blaise objected.

“Potter’s a Gryffindor, all he’ll care about is that they’re Light.” Pansy insisted.

“Actually, Potter’s not interested in breeding at all.” Draco informed the two of them.

“What? That’s ridiculous! And how would you know?” Pansy asked.

“I mentioned the wisdom of reuniting the Black blood and title.” Draco said, nodding towards Jamie. “He was very offended at the idea of marrying for any purpose other than personal attraction.”

The Slytherins gaped at him.

“But…but he could end up marrying some horrid _Muggle_ based on that logic!” Daphne Greengrass gasped out.

“Don’t be silly Daphne. Muggles are disgusting.”

“But Potter _likes_ Muggles! Oh Merlin, a Founder’s blood could get mixed with undiluted Muggle blood and lost forever!” Daphne was hyperventilating. The Common Room was in an uproar over this conjecture, the older students properly horrified while some of the younger Slytherins looked about to cry.

“In case you’ve all forgotten, Potter is currently being courted according to the very finest wizarding traditions.” Draco reminded them. “Clearly, the Founders line isn’t going to disappear anytime soon.”

Daphne calmed down a bit.

“Still. He’ll probably pass his Muggle fetish on to his children! It could still happen.”

Draco smirked, wondering what Daphne would say if she knew about Potter’s _real_ fetish.

“Potter doesn’t know any better. Whoever’s courting him is obviously one of the finer pureblood families.” Pansy sniffed. “I’m sure they’ll make sure their offspring don’t share Potter’s…proclivities.”

“They’ll still be very close to those Weasleys though. They could still influence them.” Someone conjectured.

“Even the Weasleys have still managed to remain pure. Though they do tend to take on new blood directly instead of waiting a generation, they’re not _entirely_ irresponsible. Just tasteless.” Blaise corrected.

The entire common room shuddered at the idea of actually marrying a Mudblood. Consummation with their raw, uncultivated young magic was rumored to be an experience that was both extreme and scarring…wizards who’d secretly mated with Mudblood witches were often unable to enjoy relations with their proper wives from then on. 

Unfortunately, a few less prestigious pureblood wizards of every generation had to be sacrificed to such a fate in order to channel that unfocused power into the long-term generational magic that was the foundation of the powerful collective wardings that kept the wizarding world protected.

Ronald Weasley and the extremely powerful Mudblood witch Granger were a case in point. Though, disturbingly, the red-head took to his burden with an enthusiasm that was surely an unhealthy form of denial.

“You know. Potter’s mother was a Mudblood. A very powerful one.” Blaise observed after a moment.

“Oh. And he’s Heir to a Founder through his father!” Pansy gushed. “Imagine all that raw magic channeled into _that_ blood! Whoever’s courting him is going to get quite a surprise if they’re successful!”

“I think we can assume whoever instigated Heirloom, Magic, and Blood was quite sophisticated enough to calculate whether they could survive the magical levels of the honeymoon.” Blaise said dryly.

Draco sucked in a quick breath and held it to counteract his face’s attempt to turn pale.

How had he not considered that?

The Malfoy line had never been exposed to young magic with less than three intervening generations of cultivation. Theirs was some of the most delicate, intricate generational magic that existed, excluding perhaps the Eouvalons of the Light side.

Lily Evans had been rumored to be an extremely powerful Mudblood witch, only a Potter or a Weasley could possibly have handled the amounts of raw magic that would have been her part of the exchange that happens during consummation. Or the Gaunts or Zabinis of the Dark families, though the latter would be an extremely unhealthy alliance for the Mudblood involved.

Evan’s magic would be in Harry, tamed by that of his Gryffindor father…and hopefully more so by Slytherin through the Dark Lord. But it would still be an extremely powerful wash of magic pouring through Draco…no doubt he would be scarred the way the average pureblooded wizard would be scarred by mating directly with a Mudblood.

And…undoubtedly, the overwhelming nature of the magical exchange would ensure that Potter was the dominant partner, at least that time.

Draco swallowed. How did he not think about that! Potter was the more powerful wizard, and his magic less refined. Royal blood, yes, but infused with the relatively untamed magic of his mother just the same. Of _course_ Draco would not be the one in control of their first sexual encounter…he’d be swept away entirely by Potter…lucky to escape with his sanity and independence intact!

Draco thought back to that night under the invisibility cloak. The burning magic that had sliced through him with every physical contact with the boy. Only the small taste of excess magic, the traces of Potter’s desire for him.

On consummation, the magic in Potter’s core would rush into Draco like a burning tide of pure alcohol, while Potter devoured Draco’s own magic that was like a fine wine.

Draco repressed a growl of annoyance as he realized the humiliating thought was making him hard under his robes. _Damn Potter!_

He looked up to find Blaise watching him through closely narrowed eyes. Did he suspect?

Draco allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up in a slight sneer. His best friend looked away.

“I think we’re hexing at shadows without more information.” Draco spoke quietly, but his voice carried all the authority of his position in Slytherin.

“Well, the Gryffindors don’t seem to even know. But whoever it is, it’s controversial. The Golden Trio has been seen arguing more than normal, lately.” Pansy said.

“Well, I’d say we should put to use what we have…the perfect spy.” Draco said, turning to his cousin. “Jamie. You’ve gotten close with those three lately, now that they’ve accepted you as one of their Marauders. Do you think you could get the information out of them?”

Jamie turned to him, looking slightly at a loss for just a second before she realized what he really wanted. Her eyes locked on his in understanding, then shuttered into expressionlessness as he’d taught her.

“I may be able to. They’re very careful what they say around me. I’m still a Slytherin.” She said.

Draco smirked at her. It was time for her to learn yet another layer of the Slytherin games of intrigue – the spy with two masters. Severus would be so proud.

“I want you to start spending more time with them. Perhaps make it seem there’s some distance growing between yourself and the rest of Slytherin. Find out more about Potter’s courtship for us.” _Tell me the hidden effects of what I do._

She nodded in understanding.

“I’m supposed to meet with them tonight.”

“For what?”

“We’re going to-” Jamie cut herself off.

“What, Jamie.”

“Do homework. Hermione promised to help me with Charms.”

“You’re getting homework help from a Mudblood!?” Pansy exclaimed, shocked.

“Pansy. Her grades are nearly as good as mine, despite her blood.” Draco corrected her.

They all ignored the fact that the Mudblood’s grades were actually better than Draco’s. It was only due to the teacher’s prejudice against Slytherins, anyways.

“But still! It’s the principle of the thing! She shouldn’t even _be_ here.” Daphne stated.

“Not _this_ again! Where should she be then? Where else would she have met the youngest Weasley? Mudbloods have to be controlled and their magic reclaimed into the proper bloodlines or we’ll all die out, Daphne. It’s one of those distasteful things you just have to endure.” Blaise said, annoyed.

Draco watched a slightly smug grin slip onto Jamie’s face. She’d mentioned Granger on purpose, knowing it would distract the Slytherins from the bald-faced lie she’d rather clumsily uttered. They’d have to work on that, of course. Though her misdirection was admirable. But still…better that it’s not necessary.

Clearly the Marauders were planning some mischief tonight. Let her keep their silly secrets, then. As long as she revealed the important ones.

The Slytherins finally decided that it was acceptable for Jamie to be tutored by the Mudblood, but only because it was necessary for her cover as a spy. 

Draco rolled his eyes. The idiots were still confusing the legitimate rationale of blood-politics with the ignorant group-politics spouted by the half-blood Dark Lord many of their parents followed. 

Mudbloods weren’t necessarily a bad thing. Just…dangerous. But then, most powerful, untamed things were.

Draco refused to let his mind wander towards a certain green-eyed Gryffindor whose skin emited burning magic at a touch.

It was time to set in motion his plans to remove any obstacles in his path to Potter.

 

\- - - - -

 

“Mr. Malfoy! Come in, come in my boy!” The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled that infuriating all-knowing twinkle at him as he came to sit. Draco had no doubt the Headmaster knew why he was here. Even if Potter had not told him, the history of the Crystal Sceptre was something the man would be intimately aware of, since his grandfather had used it in Grindelwald’s service.

Draco had partially chosen the Sceptre as a message to the headmaster. The Crystal Sceptre was, as he had told Potter, originally created to serve the Light. A long-ago Malfoy had slaughtered an entire temple full of Light priests in order to obtain it, and twisted it to possibly the most vile purpose imaginable. 

It was symbolic of the Malfoy reputation. Bad-faith. Twist everything for your own gain.

The few Light Malfoys had always hidden the Sceptre during their lives, ashamed of its connotations. But the more numerous Dark wizards and witches, and even one Dark Lord, had always retrieved it. Flaunted it, corrupting its use to more and more heinous acts.

And now the Lord Draco Malfoy was giving it to the Boy-Who-Lived. As part of a courtship ritual.

Draco took his seat in front of the Headmasters desk.

“Lemon drop?”

“No thank you.”

“I think I’ll indulge just the same.” Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth, his bearded mouth pursing at the sour taste as he sat back in his chair with a sigh.

“Well then, what can I do for you my boy?”

“I’ve come to make my intentions clear, regarding the war.”

“Truly? I had thought your gift earlier was the most we would hear on the matter from a Malfoy…even a Malfoy such as yourself.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

A Malfoy such as himself…a Light Malfoy.

Draco frowned. The wizard was assuming too much.

“I’ve decided that, given the state of the wizarding world, and your position with respect to Harry Potter, that the risk of any confusion regarding my nature and my intentions regarding the war and Harry Potter is counterproductive.” Draco said.

“I see.” Dumbledore gazed at him sharply. He’d caught the ‘my nature’ as a clear reference to his status as a Light or Dark wizard.

“I believe the simplest way to avoid unnecessary…obstacles…is to simply reveal to you ahead of time what the next two gifts to Potter will be.” Draco said, and pulled out two tiny rolled-up pieces of parchment.

Draco hesitated before handing the first to the older man.

“I expect these to be held in utmost confidence.”

“Of course, my boy. Of course.” Dumbledore reached for the little scroll just a touch eagerly. Draco decided he was right. Dumbledore prided himself on being all-knowing, and knowing Harry’s ritual gifts before Harry did was just the sort of gift that would tip the balance.

Draco handed him the scroll and watched him unroll it, reading the incantation inside.

He looked hard at Draco.

“This is blood magic. Dark.”

“Meaning, illegal? Yes, I believe you’re right.” Draco smirked.

Dumbledore looked at the incantation again, his face suddenly looking old.

“Mr. Malfoy. I’m afraid I’m going to have to strongly suggest you find another incantation. This one is quite dangerous. And it could result in a very unpleasant sentence to Azkaban.”

“Do you not think the circumstances justify it?” Draco asked smoothly.

Dumbledore frowned.

“The circumstances justify a lot of things. But the law will not.”

“Gifts given as part of Heirloom, Magic, Blood are exempt unless they are unjustifiable.” Draco reminded him. His barristers had done their research.

“It’s still Dark magic. Blood magic. Mr. Malfoy, I cannot condone this.”

“No one is asking you to.” Draco said shortly. “I am informing you of my intentions. In confidence, I might add.”

Dumbledore didn’t look happy.

Draco held his eyes for a moment. The message was clear. Draco was still, in fact, a Dark wizard. One who would use that branch of magic on Potters behalf. But Dark.

The headmaster sagged a bit in his chair. Yet another sacrifice of principles for the old man. Dumbledore _knew_ Potter would need the protection that incantation would give him.

Draco nodded shortly, then handed him the second little scroll.

Dumbledore opened it warily, read the single word quickly before his eyes shot up towards Draco.

“What is this!”

“I know where they are.” Draco told him confidently.

“How?”

“My father was at the Dark Lord’s right hand. My grandfather before him. They took excellent notes.”

Dumbledore looked at him disbelievingly. Draco felt the subtle tapping of the man’s mind against his Occlumency shields.

“Severus Snape _is_ my godfather, Professor.” Draco bit out, coldly. The tapping retreated.

“I apologize, young Mr. Malfoy. But I have the feeling you are not being entirely forthcoming with me.”

“I’m a Slytherin and a Malfoy. When have you known either to be _entirely_ forthcoming?” Draco rebuked him, annoyed.

“I’ll confess my experience among both is relatively limited-”

“I’m quite aware of your dealings with my godfather, thank you.”

Dumbledore’s head shot up again, his eyes horrified.

“No need for you to worry. I’ve _already_ used that information for my own gain, and it is now protected by Oath.” Draco assured him.

The tapping was back, in another area, even more subtle.

“Don’t bother. It’s insulting.” Draco warned him.

“Mr. Malfoy. You are in the process of… _courting_ a boy whose safety I take as a very personal responsibility. I’m aware of your past with Mr. Potter, which may lead you to discount much of the fanfare that surrounds him, but there remains the fact that he is very important in the scheme of things.”

“You’re wrong. I am _very_ aware of how important Potter is in the scheme of things. Most likely, more aware than _you_ are, Headmaster.” Draco snapped, then instantly regretted his hasty words as the Headmaster’s new subtle probes shifted oddly…clearly in an attempt to distract him from the even _more_ careful tapping in yet another section of his Occlumency shields.

Draco had clearly evoked his interest, and endangered a family secret. He put his hand on his wand to help focus him, allowed himself to snap into a momentary trance just long enough to open a tiny hole in his outer shields…letting the weaker probe slip in…then snapping the shields closed again like teeth, a very nasty counter-spell jolting up along the length of the probe and into the older man’s psyche.

Dumbledore recoiled backwards, his chair rocking with the impact. Draco noted his eyes were suddenly bloodshot.

“I’ve given you more information than anyone besides my own mother. Be satisfied with that, old man.” Draco hissed angrily.

“ _Mr. Malfoy_. I _must_ know whether Harry Potter would be safe to continue this…this thing you have initiated. You are a Dark Wizard. How can I possibly trust you.”

Draco leaned back.

“I haven’t asked you for your _trust_. However, the nature of my gifts are such as to not only be valuable gifts to Harry, but also to allow _you_ to logically rule out certain suspicions.” Draco told him calmly.

Dumbledore sighed.

“You place me in a very difficult situation, Mr. Malfoy. You say you do not need my trust. But you seek to place yourself in a situation that is perilous to the entire world if you are not trustworthy.”

“I seek to place myself in a situation that is perilous if I am not _predictable_ on _certain things_.” Draco corrected him, rising from his seat. “I think I’ve given you enough information to allow that, if you’re clever enough to extrapolate.”

Dumbledore sighed again.

“Very well. I will not stand in the way of your attempts to court Mr. Potter. For now. See that you give me no cause to change that.” He said.

Draco nodded. This was as close to a blessing a Dark wizard was going to get from the old man.

“Thank you. Now…there is only one other I think I should speak to immediately. Would you mind terribly if I made use of your floo?” Draco asked politely.

The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed carefully for a moment, assessing him before the eyes twinkled knowingly.

Well. At least he’d given him careful consideration before slipping into his annoyingly omniscient persona.

“Please be my guest, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

\- - - - -

 

The Burrow was not, as Draco had been led to believe, a fetid dump packed beyond capacity with hand-me-down clothes, heirlooms of dubious magical or monetary value, and an unending supply of little red-headed people packed in like little rodents everywhere.

It was, in fact a dump. And yes, hand-me-down clothes were clearly visible. The grandfather clock with the hands for each family member…including Harry, Draco noticed…was likely once a lovely piece but had not aged well. The tracking spell indicating the location of the family members looked like an interesting application of some of the more extreme familial magical spells but nothing terribly powerful. 

And…yes…there were red-heads everywhere. Beyond the Weasley matriarch, the two fearsome twins who had pounced on Draco moments after he landed outside the fireplace were standing on either side of him, cracking their knuckles ominously. The dragon-handling Weasley was perched on the counter… _most_ rude, talking animatedly to yet another red-haired fellow…perhaps the curse-breaker, who was similarly leaned against the edge of a chipped-up kitchen table.

Draco couldn’t imagine a space around him where another person could possibly fit in the room. Little rodents indeed.

But…one thing the Burrow was not was _fetid_. In fact, the aromas swirling up from the massive kettle were nothing short of magical.

_I will not make a fool of myself over Weasley food._

“Well. What’s _this_? Care to explain, boys?” Molly Weasley asked in a powerful voice, her hands (one still holding a dripping ladle) on her aproned hips.

“It’s Malfoy!” One of the twins said.

“He was sneaking in.” The other added.

“Through the loo.” The first clarified.

Molly looked at her boys in disapproval, then her eyes hardened a bit as they settled on Draco.

Draco swallowed. It had only been two generations, and she was only a Weasley by marriage. She should be the easiest to win over.

“Mrs. Weasley. I’m Draco Malfoy.” He offered. His arms were still firmly clamped by the evil twins, so he didn’t have to shake her hand.

Molly Weasley placed the spoon carefully back in the pot, and with a twirl of her wand, set it to stirring. Draco found his eyes tracking every movement…then staying with the spoon as it went around, and around, and around…delicious steam coming up…

 _That food is Weasley food. It was cooked by a Weasley. The ingredients have probably been handled by Weasleys with their bare hands. It has been stewing here in a Weasley pot, cooked by Weasley magic, and simmering in Weasley-breathed air._ Draco reminded himself. His mouth watered anyways.

“Yes. I know who you are, young man. What are you doing in my house?”

Draco snapped his attention to the matter at hand.

“Oh! I…um…I wanted to speak with Mr. Weasley.”

“I’m sure you could have found him in his office-”

“In a non-official capacity, and _not_ in public.” Draco finished.

“Oh. Well. Arthur should be home for dinner any moment now.”

“Did Molly-wobbles call my name?” Arthur Weasley boomed from behind Draco, and suddenly he was also in the kitchen, filling up the last amount of possible space in the room that Draco hadn’t previously realized existed.

“You have a visitor.” Molly said.

“Who? Oh. Lord Malfoy.” Mr. Weasley was suddenly very uncomfortable, clearly not pleased to see the scion of the hated Malfoys in his home.

“Lord Weasley. Is there somewhere private we could have a word?”

Mr. Weasley studied him coolly for a moment.

“Will this take very long?”

“Possibly. I’d like to settle the argument my grandfather started.” Draco said calmly. The kitchen was suddenly deadly quiet.

“I. See.” Mr. Weasley wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his shock.

“How long?” Mrs. Weasley demanded.

“What?”

“How long is this going to take?”

“As long as it takes.” Draco said.

Molly Weasley turned on her husband, a glint of something in her eye.

“You’ll be eating dinner first.”

“Now, Molly. This is very important, and I think-”

“ _After. Dinner._ ” She said, very forcefully.

“Molly, Mr. Malfoy has come to put an end to a really horrible feud between our families! He _really_ shouldn’t be kept waiting.” Arthur protested. He turned to Draco, expecting him to confirm his impatience.

Draco’s stomach growled. Loudly.

There was a moment of silence, only broken by one of the twins coughing hysterically behind his hand. Draco glared at the offending bookend.

“Mr. Malfoy will eat with us.” Mrs. Weasley said firmly.

“Mrs. Weasley…as much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think it would be appropriate to dine with your family before Lord Weasley have completed negotiating a reconciliation.” Draco tried.

Mrs. Weasley somehow had the spoon in her hand again, and gestured with it right under Draco’s nose. Damn her. Draco’s mouth started watering again.

“You can’t even tell me how long this is going to go on! You’ll both be in a much better mood towards each other after eating.” She insisted.

“That’s not how these things are done-” Draco objected, stopping dead as his stomach let loose with another inhuman-sounding growl.

This time the twins actually had the balls to giggle behind their hands.

“In _this_ house, it _is_.” Mrs. Weasley said triumphantly, pushing Draco towards the table and pushing him into a seat.

Draco felt the stinging of a cleansing charm on his hands before a steaming bowl of stew was smacked down onto the table before him, sloshing over the side a bit.

“Mrs. Weasley, this _really_ is not the correct order of events. While I appreciate your hospitality I _really_ would prefer to handle this matter appropriately.”

Mrs. Weasley slapped a spoon firmly into his hand.

“Eat.”

“But.”

The woman crossed her arms menacingly and glared meaningfully at his bowl.

Draco decided the negotiations wouldn’t be helped at all if he was the cause of domestic violence. He also felt that the impropriety of eating together _before_ agreeing to let bygones be bygones was less important than angering the terrifying woman. In this matter, he and Arthur were victims at the hands of a mutual enemy, of sorts, which could only be positive for their negotiations between themselves, of course.

And…that soup _did_ taste like something Archimedes would have cooked up in his legendary lab, labeled “poison” and hidden away, cackling that his ambrosia would never be used except by a man who had lost all will to live, and most needed it.

Draco ate. In fact, he ate three servings. There were no appetizers, no entrees, no salads, just an endless amount of the same stew. It was _very_ good.

By the time he had finished eating, the twins were whispering to each other behind their hands, their eyes turning to Draco now and then with a mischevious glint. The dragon-handler and the cursebreaker were shooting the twins distrustful looks, in between watching Draco with amused smiles creeping at the corners of their mouths.

And Mrs. Weasley was beaming at Draco, clearly very pleased with the amount of food he’d put away. No doubt, she presumed this food would one day be put to great work creating a vast multitude of little blond children…

Draco pushed his bowl forward slightly and placed his spoon carefully atop it, allowing a sigh of contentment to escape from him. Mrs. Weasley’s beaming went up several notches.

“Mr. Weasley. If you are finished?”

“I believe so.”

“Thank you for an exquisite dinner, Mrs. Weasley. I hope I will be allowed to return the privilege in the near future.” Draco thanked her politely.

“Why thank you, Mr. Malfoy! Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day…go! Go on, the two of you, end this horrid feud foolishness now!”

Draco nodded seriously at her, before turning to her husband.

“Is there somewhere…less crowded, that we could do that?” Draco asked. He was starting to feel the weight of the combined Weasley glares, not to mention the room was dreadfully claustrophobic.

“We’ll just step into one of the rooms upstairs.”

“Not ours!” Fred and George protested as one voice.

“Perhaps somewhere a little less…internal to your family?” Draco suggested.

Arther Weasley paused, then seemed to come to a conclusion.

“This way.

Draco followed the man outside, then into a medium-sized shed. Inside was what appeared to be the elder Weasley’s workshop. Odd artifacts littered the area, some of them clearly Muggle in origin and others were just… _strange_.

“Vendolius Indutiae Exigo” Draco incanted.

“Vendolius Indutiae Exigo” Mr. Weasley echoed.

The magic swirled around the room, sealing it. They would not be able leave until they had finished what they started.

“Advoco Phasmatis Malfoy” Draco incanted, pointing his wand at his hand. His skin was sliced in the shape of the Malfoy crest, blood welling up and filling his palm before suddenly evaporating to swirl around them in a great silver cloud. He heard Mr. Weasley echoing his part of the spell and soon the silver cloud was joined by a bright orange one, the easily identifiable color of the Weasley hair. The two clouds circled slowly above their heads, opposite each other.

Draco reached his hand into his ancestor’s cloud, pulling forth the identification of the event that started the feud.

“My grandfather, Abraxas, murdered your uncle, George.” Draco started.

Mr. Weasley reached his hand into his own cloud.

“No. Farther.” He objected.

Draco reached again and received a deeper truth from his ancestor.

“My grandfather, Abraxas, joined the Dark Lord Grindelwald and swore himself an enemy of the Light.”

“No. Farther again.”

“My grandfather, Abraxas, publicly declared your father, Bilius, a blood-traitor when he married the mudblood witch Alice Barclay.”

“No. Farther still.”

This time the ghost took a while to come up with something.

“My great-grandfather Longinus cheated your grandfather Gerald by-”

“NO! Too far and passing blame backwards!”

The spirit took even longer to answer this time.

“My grandfather Abraxas betrayed the friendship he had with your father Bilius.”

“True, but vague.”

The spirit took a long time again.

“My grandfather Abraxas tried to discourage your mudblood mother, Alice Barclay, from a relationship with your father Bilius, by planting evidence against Bilius...but he did this for Bilius’ own good!”

“Shame! Oh, shame! How can friendship be so cruel!? But no, too far.”

Draco waited for a long time…then, blinking with shock, repeated what his godfather’s spirit had told him.

“My ancestor humbly begs forgiveness for his betrayal, if only he could be told his crime.”

Mr. Weasley was silent for a long time, apparently listening to quite a speech from the other phantom.

“Your grandfather turned his back on his friend when he needed him most! When my father was in pain your grandfather told him he had brought it on himself…though now you say it was your grandfather’s doing in the first place! Your grandfather sought to control my father’s choices, and when thwarted, withdrew his friendship as a punishment! A friendship that was to last a lifetime! It was used as bargaining fodder for blood-politics! A brotherhood that was from the heart was made a negotiating ploy! Your grandfather murdered the greatest treasure of my father’s childhood – by throwing his friendship in the dust at his feet.”

Arthur’s voice was hollow. This was clearly the first time he had heard this story of his fathers.

Draco waited for his grandfather’s reply, then gave it voice, his own voice coming out sounding stunned.

“My grandfather, Abraxas, humbly begs forgiveness. From his friend, Bilius. For being an unworthy friend. For not understanding the order of values to which such a friendship belonged. For not understanding what it was.”

There was a long silence.

“Your grandfather is forgiven.” Came the response.

“And at the end, my grandfather asks if a living portrait of your father exists?”

Arthur Weasley nodded. His eyes full of tears.

“One does.”

Draco nodded back. Their spirits could request nothing in this negotiation but forgiveness. But the plea was clear. The portraits would be brought together somehow.

“Vulnus Vigoratus” Arthur intoned.

“Bellum Finis” Draco replied.

The spirits disappeared.

Now came the much harder part.

“Mr. Weasley. I have targeted your children for vicious hexes, unkind jokes, and I have attempted to gain trouble for them at every turn. I have sneered at their clothes. I have made cruel comments at every opportunity regarding their lack of wealth, their number of siblings, their magical prowess. I have called your daughter a slut. I have taunted your son for being unworthy of his brothers and his friend Harry Potter. I have in every circumstance made known my assessment of your family as worthless and disgusting.”

“Mr. Malfoy. I have raised my children to regard your family as a nest of evil from which only despicable things crawl. I have tutored my youngest son to treat you always with disrespect and implacable distrust. I have spoken into every ear in the Ministry and also in public that your family as a whole can only spawn a variety of despicable and irretrievably malevolent individuals.”

“I am willing to start again, from the point before where Abraxas turned from Bilius. If you are willing.”

“I am willing, if you come to me in good faith.”

Draco’s lips quirked at the mention of his name.

“In this case, I _am_ sincere in my desire for reconciliation between our families, for this generation and the next.”

“Then let us be reconciled.” Arthur finished.

Draco held out his hand, bloody, with the Malfoy seal still visible on his palm.

Arthur held out his own bloody hand as well.

The two met in a wet handclasp.

“Friendship, like brotherhood. Great to make all feuds fade in memory.” They spoke in unison. 

The magic sealing the room collapsed suddenly into their mutually clenched fist, insuring that their blood mingled together before being forced back into the wounds.

Draco brought his other hand to Arthur Weasley’s shoulder, pulling the larger man into an awkward hug, their hands gripped between them.

After a moment, they unclasped and stepped backwards a bit awkwardly.

“Well. I suppose we’ve already eaten.” Draco observed, wondering what to do now. The dinner was supposed to be a time for the two families to reacquaint themselves with each other as friends…that particular spell always demanded a friendship that would rival the previous feud for intensity.

Arthur cast a quick tempus.

“Molly will have dessert ready in a few minutes.”

“She makes desserts too?!” Draco clutched his stomach, which still felt swollen from the generous dinner. 

“Arthur,” Draco nearly choked with surprise as the man’s first name rolled off his tongue. Of course. The spell would force them to use each other’s first names except in formal ceremonies. “you _have_ to keep Molly away from me! Malfoy’s are always trim and slender, I can’t be eating her food…which means really that I can’t be in the same room as her food! I don’t know _where_ my father got his insane ideas about your family but he left out the fact that your wife’s cooking should be illegal!”

Arthur chuckled.

“Well. _You_ are trim and slender. And your _father_ was. I’d be willing to bet your grandfather was _not_ , at least not as a young man.”

“Merlin…what have I gotten myself into?”

Arthur chuckled again. Draco was surprised to realize the man had a rather pleasant laugh. Was that the spell doing that?

“Come, I’ve just got these delightful things in from the office. They’re a very rare Muggle device, used to create a very precisely sized spark of fire at a particular rhythm of intervals.” Arthur told him, drawing him towards the workbench.

“What? Whatever for?” Draco asked, bewildered.

“They’re used to light explosions of a potion called gasoline inside a very small space, so that the walls of the space are forced to move…and they convert that movement to cause the wheels of an automobile to spin.” Arthur explained excitedly.

“But…that’s impossible. Linear and circular motions are incompatible. Everyone knows that.” Draco objected.

“Muggles figured out a way to convert between them, between them.”

“But that’s the Sixth Law of Magical Dynamics!”

“Muggles don’t know that stuff.” Arthur said. “They don’t know a lot of things that are supposed to be impossible. Take a look at this thing over here. It’s a model of a much larger artifact, the size of a building, that converts the energy of a river into electricity…a sort of fire.”

“But…water and fire are…hey! You’re making this up, aren't you!”

“Not at all. Look, I have this book, Hydroelectric Power for Dummies, that explains it all…”


	16. Magic

Draco handled the hair carefully. It had taken considerable persuasion to induce Jamie to procure one of Potter’s dark strands, and he doubted he’d get a replacement if he messed this up. If he even survived the magical explosion.

Neatly, he twisted it around the tip of his wand, four, five, six times and held the end in place with his finger. A red ribbon made of pure Acromantula Silk, dyed in Draco’s own blood – tied in a precise Targeting knot around the looped hair. Draco took the remaining ends of ribbon and added a Defensive knot, and a Transfer knot, ending with a large knobby cluster of red silk on the end of his wand.

Potters hair to the Targeting knot, silk produced and woven by a dark creature to the Defense knot, and Draco’s blood to the Transfer knot. Object, Purpose, and Power.

Draco pointed his wand into the cauldron and spoke the first spell.

“Largior donum tantum a meus vires”

The contents of the cauldron began glowing, and Draco stirred it clockwise three times. When he removed his wand the bundle of silk and hair was no longer on it.

Draco tossed in a handful of sulfur, a common intent-marker for Dark potions, and leaned forward to inhale the fumes that rose as the sulfur boiled into the glowing bile. He took a deep breath of the caustic fumes and exhaled the next incantation into the cauldron.

“Dedico meus vires toto, nisi mis mortis, munimentum meus vir.”

His breath condensed like a heavy fog above the luminescent liquid, and Draco staggered backwards, his lungs burning.

Blood. Breath.

Draco leaned forward again, allowing his streaming eyes to splash into the liquid. They hissed as they struck the surface, and the glowing fog suddenly swirled into the liquid and a freezing cold seemed to emanate from the cauldron.

He waved his wand over the cauldron, causing its contents to swirl in the opposite direction.

“Defende in proelio.”

A loud rumbling was now coming from the cauldron, like thunder or a thousand horses hooves.

Blood. Breath. Tears.

Draco hesitated only a second before he pushed his hand into the churning cauldron, pain searing up his arm as it ate away his skin. The next incantation came out as an agonized scream. 

“Contra nequitiam et insidias de hostes praesidium!”

He pulled his hand out, looking like something inhuman rather than his own limb.

Blood. Breath. Tears. Flesh.

There were small detonations of lightning happening in the cauldron now, one every few seconds. The room was charged with magic and electricity.

Draco took that horrible limb and forced it near his own face. Grimacing. He had a strong stomach, even this wasn’t enough. He put two fingers in his mouth. The taste of his own oozing flesh did it for him.

Draco lurched forward and hurled the contents of his stomach into the cauldron. 

Draco managed to speak around a line of drooling vomit as it streamed slowly out of his mouth.

“Declino a creator pestis omnis” he moaned, gagging.

The lightning suddenly shot upwards towards his face eagerly, through the steady stream of sick he was emitting. Draco went rigid as the lightning shot into his body that way, licking down to his stomach and causing the last bit of vomit to heave spectacularly out and into the cauldron in one horrible lurch.

Draco staggered to his knees on the floor beside his workbench, heaving.

Blood. Breath. Tears. Flesh. Bile.

There was now an unmistakeable growling of constant thunder coming from the cauldron. Draco dragged himself wearily to his feet. The inside of the cauldron was a constant staccato of flashes as chain lightning bounced between the walls of the cauldron.

There was only one more element, which he’d need help for after all of this.

He opened his robe and touched his wand to his manhood and muttering a quick spell to get this last part started.

It quickly came to life, and Draco used his remaining good hand to quickly bring himself off, stepping forward as he neared completion. As he came, he heard his own voice squeaking with the force of his orgasm as the final incantation fell from his mouth.

“Dum Dubello Voldemort”

He fired his seed into the cauldron, the lightning and thunder instantly stopping as the first drops of the substance hit the surface of the water. Draco fired three more loads before he noticed the cauldron was completely empty except for the tiny bundle of silk ribbon, stained with a bit of his own essence.

Draco smirked, pulling the little bundle out and doing a quick scourgify to remove the offending substance.

Then he sat, heavily, on the floor. Completely drained.

He looked down at the talisman he’d just tied his magical core to. He knew his own scroll, if updated, would now show this little bundle as his greatest weakness. An attack on it’s rightful owner would cause it to suck magic out of Draco, sending the attack back on its source. And leaving Draco weakened, possibly completely drained into a temporary squib, depending on the strength of the attack.

And Draco was about to give it to the biggest trouble-magnet alive.

He shook his head at just how far he was extending himself in this investment.

Still. This would most definitely satisfy the Magic portion of the courtship ritual.

A door appeared in the corner, the Room responding to his wish. Draco quickly pulled his robes shut as Jamie came in, gasping when she saw his hand.

“Draco! What happened?”

Draco waved his good hand.

“Part of the ritual. Can you get me the set of potions from that satchel over there?” Draco asked.

Jamie quickly fetched the potions, uncorking them for him when his single hand proved incapable. Draco quickly tipped one vial over his injured hand, watching as it formed a shiny coating over the ruined skin. A second and third potion he downed quickly.

“Thanks.”

Jamie surveyed his exhausted state.

“What on earth did you _do_ , Draco?”

“Dark magic, Jamie. _That_ , is a Dark talisman.” Draco told her wearily, nodding at the tiny bundle of knotted ribbon.

Jamie frowned skeptically at it, then turned back to him.

“And what happened to your hand?”

“The ritual is powered by a wizard’s blood, breath, tears, flesh, bile, and seed. My hand…was the flesh.”

“That’s…that’s _horrible_!”

Draco laughed harshly, cradling his hand.

“There’s a reason it’s called Dark magic. This is the least objectionable form of that ritual that is possible to perform.” He told her.

“Well it’s pretty objectionable anyways!” Jamie retorted, kneeling next to him to get a better look at his hand.

“Well. At least I used _my_ hand. The reason the ritual’s illegal is because it’s more common to force others to donate the parts.” He chuckled.

“I still think it’s disgusting. How long will it take your hand to grow back?”

“Just a few hours, with that potion.” Draco said, not mentioning that the high-powered healing potion he’d bought for this purpose was also Dark, as it required skin flayed from a prepubescent vampire. Usually willingly, actually. A prepubescent vampire might still be over a century old, after all, and vampires as a group had a very different view on pain than humans did.

It had been expensive, of course. But Draco didn’t want his own condition to give away the identity of Potter’s suitor. Not so early in the game.

“Are you going to hide until then?”

“Yes. I’ll stay right in here.” Draco told her.

“Do you want me to stay and keep you company?”

“No, actually. I have a job for you.”

Jamie waited expectantly. It was a tactic he’d taught her. Don’t even ask, let the other person answer the question they imagine you want answered.

“Give this to Potter for me. In private.” He told her, placing the talisman in her hand and closing her fingers over it.

Jamie looked shocked.

“But…I thought the swans were much more romantic! If you’re not going to use them, you should give it to him yourself! You know, you haven’t even spoken to Harry once since you started all this!”

“Jamie. The Magic gift is given by someone personally known to both the suitor and the one being courted. The last gift is given personally…at the end.”

Jamie nodded, and started to turn to the door, then stopped.

“What about actually talking to Harry?” she asked. “I think he really likes you, you know. But he’s not going to agree to marry you if you don’t…you know… _date_ for a while, first.”

“Dating…” Draco muttered. As in, going out to Hogsmeade, and holding hands in the halls, kissing at dinner and disappearing into semi-public alcoves for frantic make-out sessions.

Draco suddenly had an image of himself lying in wait for Harry Potter, grabbing hold of his robes and yanking him back behind a random statue, those green eyes widening with shock as Draco plunged his tongue into the Gryffindor’s mouth…

No. Far too public. 

It would entirely ruin Draco’s strategy for the Blood gift, considering the situation.

And Harry Potter _would_ have the greatest possible Blood gift in the magical world. Draco was not about to be outbid by some do-gooder Light family.

But Jamie was right. Muggle-raised Potter would expect some kind of quasi-marital relationship _before_ the marriage, as odd as that was.

Draco thought about that night they’d staked out the Potions classroom. Potter’s Muggle shaving potion filling the small tent with an intoxicating scent. Potter’s lustful magic stabbing at Draco when Draco’s erection brushed against his backside. _That_ had been _quite_ exciting.

Draco certainly wouldn’t mind a “date” like that again.

Jamie was waiting, an eyebrow raised in perfect mimicry of one of his own expressions.

“Fine. Give this to Harry. And here, give him these too.” Draco handed her a small scroll and another long-stemmed rose. “Mind the thorns.”

Draco cast a localized Notice-Me-Not on the flower.

“Ask him to meet me in the Great Hall at midnight. Tell him I said he should make sure nobody sees him.”

“I _know_ about the Invisibility Cloak, Draco.” Jamie said, offended.

“Tell him to bring his Cloak, then. And…oh, you should be the one to put the talisman around his neck. Make sure he wears it, then come back here. I’m sure this Room can make a pensieve.”

Once Jamie had left, Draco summoned another piece of parchment from his bag, along with a quill and ink.

He had a favor to ask of the old man.

\- - - - -

 

An hour later Jamie was back in the room, all giggles and excitement and completely non-Slytherin. 

Those Marauders were ruining his cousin, Draco decided. He’d have to keep a close eye on the level of influence the Golden Trio would have over his offspring. The idea of a _Malfoy_ running around all out of breath with their hair askew…no, that would _not_ do.

“Is there a reason you’re running around with your robes hanging sideways like a Hufflepuff in heat?” Draco asked acidly.

Jamie stopped, blushed, and hastily rearranged her robes. Not nearly neatly enough.

Draco sighed, and performed a few quick cleaning and neatening and starching charms, restoring her robes to a reasonable state for a well-bred twelve year old.

“I’ve told you about running in the halls, it’s not dignified. As a representative of a powerful and ancient family, _and_ of Slytherin House, some decorum is expected in public.” He told her severely.

With some effort Jamie slowed her breathing and returned her face to a neutral expression. Her eyes belied the attempt, dancing with merriment as she stood before his inspection, waiting for him to finish so she could burst with her exciting news.

Draco sighed again. After twelve years of Muggle indoctrination, there was only so much he could do in the time he’d had.

“Very well Jamie. I take it my gift was well received? Did Harry decide to wear it?” Draco asked tensely.

“Oh he did. But not without having a huge debate with Ron and Hermoine about it.” Jamie said.

Draco relaxed.

“I think you’d better show me.”

A pensieve suddenly appeared on a small pedestal between them.

“Think about the incident from beginning to end, and push that memory towards the front of your mind. I’m going to pull it out with my wand.”

Draco placed the tip of his wand at her temple and neatly pulled the silvery strand from her, depositing it in the bowl.

“Now…let’s see what the excitement is about…”

__

_“Hey Harry! There’s a little snake at the door to see you!” Finnegan announced grandly._

_“Hi Jamie.” Harry Potter was sitting at a low table next to the fireplace, playing chess with Ron Weasley. Losing, it looked like. He didn’t seem to mind, though. His eyes, green as ever, sparkled as they regarded his visitor with delight._

_“Hi Harry!” Jamie said brightly. “How bad is Ron winning?”_

_Harry laughed, a completely unguarded sound that filled the room._

_“I think I’m about done. Ron?”_

_“Eight more moves should do it, mate.”_

_“You heard the man.” Harry told her. “I thought you were hanging out with Mal-, uh, Draco, today?”_

_Jamie was now close enough to speak more quietly._

_“He sent me to give you something.” She said in a low voice._

_The room seemed to freeze. Or at least, Harry and Ron froze. Granger, on the couch with a pile of books, seemed to pick up on it and sidled over._

_“Hello Jamie.”_

_“Hi ‘Mione.”_

_“What’s going on?”_

_“She’s got another gift from the ferret.” Ron said in a hushed voice._

_“Ron, you know you’re supposed to be using his first name.” Granger reprimanded._

_“I don’t have to. I say he’s still a ferret.” Ron said._

_“Just because you’re not magically bound doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing. Draco’s gone pretty far out on a limb to end hostilities with your family. You know what the friendship oath means. He’s going to be practically your brother, you might as well learn to get along.” Granger lectured him._

_“But ‘Mione, this is Malfoy! The ferret, don’t you remember all those times he called you a-”_

_“I don’t need you to repeat it, Ronald.”_

_“I still say it’s stupid to expect me to just suddenly like him and call him by his first name.” Ron huffed._

_“Well you could at least try for something neutral. You know he at least will only be able to call you by your first name.”_

_“Whatever. Malfoy’s sent another gift.” Ron said, arms crossed sulkily._

_“Jamie? Maybe we should find somewhere more private.” Granger said._

_The four made their way through the Gryffindor Common Room and up into what must be Harry and Ron’s dormitory._

_Harry and Granger cast several spells on the door before turning expectantly to Jamie. She raised the charmed rose and extended it to Harry._

_“What?” Harry blinked._

_“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Granger muttered, and cast a quick Finite on her hand._

_Harry gasped as the rose was revealed, reaching up to reverently stroke the petals as he had the previous time, before taking the stem in his hand. Once again, gripping tightly enough to let the thorns draw blood._

_Potter clearly understood the symbolism of the thorns, then._

_“Harry! Your hand! Merlin, Malfoy sent another one with thorns on it!” Ron said, grabbing his friend’s wrist and disentangling the vicious stem from the torn flesh._

_“Some help, ‘Mione?”_

_“Ronald, don’t you have even one romantic bone in your body?” Granger scolded him, retrieving the rose he’d thrown on the floor and placing it back in Harry’s hand._

_“What? Harry’s bleeding, ‘Mione! Can’t you help out with a healing charm? And keep that bloody thing away from him till it’s at least got its thorns taken off!” Ron protested._

_“Ron. Harry doesn’t mind the thorns. They’re part of the gift.” Granger explained as if talking to a complete idiot. Which in this matter, she clearly was._

_“But…they’re cutting him, ‘Mione.”_

_“I know that! Look, just trust me on this. The thorns are a good thing. They show that Draco realizes he and Harry have hurt each other in the past and is sorry.”_

_“Sorry!? But then he’s saying sorry by hurting him again, ‘Mione! Just look at his hand!”_

_“No, the rose is the sorry. More than sorry. Roses are a symbol of love, and roses with thorns means there’s love behind all all the petty meanness Draco’s always shown in public. And by letting them cut him Harry’s deciding that the love is worth putting up with all the snarky little vicious digs Draco’s always making. It’s a very sweet and beautiful statement, Ron and…oh, forget it, you’re such a hopeless… **boy**!” Granger huffed._

_“You’re mental.” Ron said. Then he looked at his best friend, who was lightly tracing his bottom lip with the soft petals of the rose, blood dripping off his elbow. “And you’re even more mental, mate. I mean, forget the thorns…how could you even consider liking Draco bloody Malfoy of all people?”_

_“I just do.”_

_“Well, I think you should really just nip this in the bud before he gets you thinking that way about him, know what I mean? Wait. What do you mean you already do?” Ron suddenly demanded._

_“I like Draco. He’s…he’s not that bad, really.”_

_“Not that bad!” Ron was aghast. “Mate, he’s a bloody terror!”_

_“So are the twins, and you don’t hate them.” Harry smiled._

_“Don’t I?” Ron crossed his arms. “If they weren’t family…”_

_“And we’re just as bad as Draco, anyways. Only better at being bad. All he really does is make sarcastic comments, which are sometimes kind of witty, even. And besides, I already figured out it’s just an act back in first year.”_

_Draco raised an eyebrow at this. Just an act? Well, perhaps part of it was, but could Potter have penetrated his mask so easily?_

_“Some act!” Ron snorted._

_“He’s right, Ron. I told you about that conversation I had with him. He’s not completely racist, a good part of that has been doing what his father said. Now that he gets to make the decisions he’s much more open-minded.” Granger jumped in._

_“And that’s the real act, I tell you. Look at what his father did after the end of the first war. Claimed he was under Imperius, he did. Started giving money to charities, made himself look like some really great humanitarian who got caught up with the wrong crowd. Don’t you see what he’s doing? It’s the same thing!”_

_“Except he’s doing this before the war ends, not after.” Granger said._

_“I say it’s a trap, and Malfoy’s an evil git, and his roses are a nasty trick.” Ron grunted, folding his arms._

_Harry carefully placed the rose on the pillow of what must be his own bed, then turned back to his friends._

_“I like him, Ron. Get over it.” He turned to Jamie. “Was there another message?"_

_“Yes." She handed him the small scroll._

_Harry read it aloud._

_“Dear Scarhead. The last five years suggest this will be useful. Consider it a token of my commitment to a future together. Use me wisely.” Harry blinked. “Use me wisely? What is that supposed to mean?”_

_Granger was pale._

_“Jamie. Was there something else to give to Harry?” she asked._

_Jamie nodded, and opened her hand, revealing the tiny talisman in her palm. She reached towards Harry to place it around his neck._

_“No Jamie!” Granger cried. Jamie paused, looking back at her._

_“What is it Hermoine?”_

_“Harry. It’s the second gift. Magic. An immensely powerful magical gift.”_

_“I thought the Sceptre was immensely powerful.” Harry said, puzzled._

_“No, no. This is an actual work of magic. A spell or ritual that is personally created by the giver, usually involving a substantial portion of their personal magic. Jamie, is Draco allright?”_

_Jamie nodded slowly._

_“He’s recovering in the Room of Requirement. I gave him some potions to...um…recover.”_

_Granger’s eyes were narrowed._

_“What did he do to himself?”_

_Jamie sighed._

_“Something awful. His hand…the skin was all gone, and he could barely stand.”_

_“How did he cast a charm on the rose if he was that drained?” Granger asked._

_“I don’t know. He didn’t have any trouble doing magic. He just looked exhausted and beat up.” Jamie told her._

_Granger puzzled over that, muttering ‘use me wisely’ over and over._

_“If Malfoy was being ambitious with his magic, you know it’ll be something nasty.” Ron said spitefully. “Do a few scrying spells on it, ‘Mione. I’ll bet you anything it’s Dark.”_

_Granger paused, looking at Ron then nodding in agreement._

_She pulled out her wand and began casting, her frown growing deeper with every spell. Finally she stopped._

_“Well?”_

_“It’s Dark, alright.”_

_“I told you! What would it do to him?”_

_“To Harry? Nothing. It’s an incredibly powerful protection charm. I’ve never seen anything that powerful…I…I think it might even hold off an Unforgivable.” Granger said._

_“But nobody can block those, not even Professor Dumbledore.” Harry objected._

_“You can, Harry.” Ron mentioned._

_“But that’s different! My mother died to save me so…oh.”_

_“Exactly. The only way something this powerful could have been made would be if a powerful wizard completely opened up his magical core to power it. Willing sacrifice by the caster himself…yes that would multiply it to the power of the number of personal artifacts linking it…” Hermoine trailed off, rattling off arithmancy calculations under her breath._

_“What?” Ron and Harry asked at the same time, bewildered._

_“Jamie! You said his hand had flesh eaten from it?”_

_Jamie nodded._

_“So…he would have used Breath and Blood of course, and Seed, that’s fairly common. And Flesh makes four…hmm…that would still only be to the fourth level…powerful but not nearly on this order.” Granger mumbled._

_“He said it was powered by his blood, breath, tears, flesh, bile, and seed.” Jamie volunteered._

_“Tears? But that’s normally a Light component! Hmm, Bile is unusual in a Protection ritual of all things…and Breath is a completely original variation…how ingenious, I wonder how he managed to integrate all of those into one ritual…but that makes six physical links! And since it’s a Six that’d not only multiply to the sixth power but also invoke the power of the Earth in equal measure…making it a very high sixth level protection which is every bit as powerful as Lily’s blood protections…”_

_“What are you on about, ‘Mione?” Ron finally broke in._

_“What?” Granger jumped, casting her boyfriend an annoyed look as her train of thought was interrupted. “Oh. Well, basically it’s a protection charm more powerful than anything I’ve ever seen, powered directly from Draco Malfoy’s magical core.”_

_“But he wasn’t magically drained.”_

_“Oh. He wouldn’t be. Not yet. It’s not that kind of charm. He didn’t power it with his magical core. He created it so it could borrow energy from his magical core any time you’re attacked.” She explained._

_Harry looked sick._

_“I don’t want it. Take it back, Jamie. I don’t want anybody else dying for me.”_

_Ron gave a triumphant grin, but Granger put a cautioning hand up._

_“Harry. He wouldn’t die from it. It would just use up his magic.”_

_“That would leave him defenseless, it’s as good as killing him.” Harry said stubbornly, eyeing the bauble like a treacherous relative._

_“Leave him be, ‘Mione. He’s rejecting it. He can do that. And good thing, too. This bloody courtship business has gone far enough.” Ron said._

_“No, he needs to know what he’s doing before he does it.” Granger told him._

_“What does he mean? If I refuse it, that means he won’t…keep asking me to marry him?” Harry asked tentatively._

_Draco mentally cheered at the sad sound to his voice._

_“Essentially, yes. Each of the gifts is intended to be something so perfect for you that you could not possibly refuse unless it was because you refused to consider the marriage.”_

_“But I don’t want to drain Malfoy to protect myself! That’s…that’s horrible!”_

_“But think about what it means, Harry. He’s a Slytherin. He’s not a fighter, but he knows you are. He’s changing sides but he has to make sure his side wins. He’s not going to jump out on the battlefield and help guard your back, but he’ll sit inside a warded room with his magic weakened to make you invincible. It’s a very clever move on his part. Isn’t it, Ron?” Granger demanded._

_“Well. Yeah. It’s a good strategy if you’re a bloody coward.” Ron said grudgingly. “He thinks he’s the King and Harry’s the Queen.” Ron paused, his face turning a disturbing shade of puce before he covered it with his hands. “Oh, Merlin, I can’t believe I just said that.” He moaned._

_“See Harry? He’s not being noble, he’s being clever.”_

_Harry watched her carefully, then nodded._

_“I guess you’re right, ‘Mione.”_

_“So. What you have to decide isn’t whether you want Draco’s magic protecting you, but whether you’re willing to wear a Dark talisman to make it happen.” Granger continued logically._

_“How is it Dark?”_

_“Blood magic. And other things, too. He used his own flesh.” Ron said disgustedly._

_“Willingly given.” Granger added, then froze._

_All three of them froze. The words clearly had some significance. Draco wondered what it was._

_“So. It’s something like _that_.” Harry said, drawing back._

_“No, more than that. That was blood, bone, and flesh. And two of those were unwilling. Very low-level magic compared to this.” Granger told him._

_“You’re not making it sound any better.” Harry said, shuddering in revulsion._

_“Fine. Well, think about this. Most of the Dark rituals are considered Dark because they are very powerful, and they can be used in a weakened variation with unwilling sacrifices. Maybe if the sacrifice is willing, it shouldn’t be called Dark, really. Isn’t sacrificing yourself for someone else the essence of Light? That’s what your mother did for you, Harry.” Granger argued._

_Harry’s eyes softened at that._

_“She did, didn’t she?”_

_“And now Draco’s doing the same thing. Only, not with his life, but with his magic.” Granger said._

_Harry was now smiling softly, his green eyes wistful._

_“Why would he do that for me?”_

_“He’s doing it for himself, mate. Not you. He’s Malfoy.” Ron cut in harshly, ruining the moment._

_Harry seemed to sober, considering that._

_“Yeah. He is pretty selfish.” He admitted._

_“So maybe you should think twice about all this. You really want to be stuck with that git?” Ron asked._

_Harry looked down at the talisman._

_“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”_

_He smiled, then gave Jamie a small nod, leaning forward._

_Jamie placed the talisman at the hollow at the base of his neck, drawing the ends of the ribbon around his neck and bringing them together behind him. The silk ribbon weaved its ends together seamlessly and Jamie leaned in to whisper in his ear._

_“Draco wants to see you again. Tonight in the Great Hall. Bring your Cloak.”_

_A deep blush suffused Harry’s face as Jamie withdrew with a smug grin._


	17. Romance for Dummies

The Great Hall was disturbingly empty in the middle of the night. 

No Hufflepuffs cooing.

No Ravenclaws studying.

No Gryffindors gorging.

And only one lone Slytherin plotting.

Draco rubbed his hands in delight at his handiwork.

The head table had been spread over with a rich velvet tablecloth of a deep green color.

A large shallow receptacle of the finest crystal dominated the left end of the table, countless tiny candles floating in the water inside it.

Starting a few feet from that, two neat rows of long white candles in finely carved gold holders were lined up like pillars, all the way down the length of the table to the right end, where a lovely setting for an intimate dinner was lovingly set up.

Rose petals were strewn artistically all along the table, and a single long-stemmed rose with its thorns intact lay long-wise in the very center.

Draco smirked and cast a quick tempus. Five minutes to midnight.

He looked at the doorway the invisible Gryffindor would certainly enter through.

A quick vision spell let him check that the hex he’d set on the doorway was ready to do its clever little job as soon as the Gryffindor passed beneath it.

Draco smirked one last time, sitting himself carefully on the edge of the table before casting the last spell that comprised the trap.

Harry Potter wouldn’t even have a chance.

Draco walked over to the seat he’d chosen to observe the golden boy meet his fate and sat down with a self-satisfied sigh.

So much work...planning and researching and figuring out just exactly _how_ he could best get to the boy…and now he just had to wait a few more minutes and the hero of the wizarding world would be, quite literally, in the palm of his hand.

Draco held his breath as the door to the Great Hall slowly creaked open, the entry appearing to be empty.

How interesting that Draco could not see him, but knew that he was there…while he sat in plain sight of his prey, whose eyes failed to notice him.

There was a light scuffing sound, like a shoe being scraped uncertainly against a stone floor, and then the door opened the rest of the way…a gasp as the boy obviously caught sight of the distractingly beautiful setting at the Head Table.

…A tentative footstep…

A blue flickering at the doorway informed Draco that he’d crossed the threshold…the magical trap was locking on and would strike in just a second…

“Wingardium Leviosa” Draco murmered, pointing his wand at the spot he knew to be occupied, and Harry Potter suddenly blinked stupidly at the world as his cover was whisked away from him, revealing him standing in the doorway.

Then there was a blue flash as the trap on the doorway activated, and Harry Potter disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Draco smirked at him as he landed in a tumble nearly at his feet.

“Graceful as ever, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes flashed in anger and he went for his wand. 

Draco tsked and drummed his fingers on the table…right next to where the other boy’s wand had been carefully deposited by the hex.

Ah, how he loved the Weasley Wizardly Wheezes.

“What is this, Malfoy!”

“Now now, Harry, I can’t have you ruining my perfectly lovely trap with unpleasant curses. Don’t you appreciate all the effort I’ve gone to?” Draco gestured at the lovely scene he’d spent so much time creating.

Harry barely glanced at what he indicated, then did a double-take, his jaw dropping.

“What-, what the hell did you do, Malfoy? What is all this?”

“I told you. Draco.” Draco corrected him. “As for your question…I really think you can figure it out.”

“But…but this…this is…”

“Impossible?” Draco snorted. “Your muggle relatives have spoiled your imagination, I expect.”

Harry gaped at the candles for a moment, then seemed to remember Draco.

“I…it’s beautiful.” He said simply.

“Thank you, I’m pleased you approve. Sit down.” Draco waved imperiously at the seat opposite him.

Harry sat down shakily, his hand sweeping the fine white silk of the tablecloth out of the way as he pushed his legs under the table. He seemed to freeze momentarily as his limbs met Draco’s beneath the table, and Draco gave him a small smile as he moved his legs to tangle slightly with the Gryffindors.

He’d chosen a very small table for a good reason.

“How did you do this to me?” Harry asked, waving a hand at himself to indicate his current condition. “I mean…I had my cloak on.”

Draco smirked yet again, feeling very self-satisfied.

“Your Weasley twins. They sell plenty of proximity-triggered hexes, now that I’m a friend of the family it was easy to have a combination made to order.”

Harry grimaced.

“You’re turning all my friends against me, aren’t you?”

Draco waved dismissively.

“Oh, I didn’t mention your name, of course. Do you take me for a fool? They’d be all over the place, poking their noses in and generally interfering with my nefarious plot if they knew it concerned their heroic little benefactor.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, staring him down evenly.

“And what _is_ your nefarious plot?”

Draco smirked.

“Manners, Potter. _Harry_. We haven’t even started dinner, and you’re already inquiring about dessert.”

He was rewarded by a blush as the Gryffindor suddenly avoided eye contact.

Draco allowed his smirk to transform into a rakish grin before he clapped his hands twice.

The tiny table was suddenly crowded as the first course magically appeared.

Harry’s eyes sparkled with delight at the doll-sized servings, and Draco quickly joined him, daintily picking through the appetizer.

“So, Harry. I’ve done a bit of research about the Muggle world, and I’ve come to the realization that no matter what wizarding ritual I use, even the greatest gifts in the wizarding world aren’t going to result in a marriage contract. You’re expecting… _romance_ , which I’ll confess I really don’t have any idea how to give you.” Draco said, playing the honesty card as Granger had suggested.

Harry looked up at him, big green eyes luminous in the candlelight. Cheeks still a bit flushed.

“Um. Well actually…that is…maybe that’s okay. I mean, you’re doing okay, so far.” He stammered.

Draco raised an eyebrow inquiringly, keeping his silence.

The Gryffindor blushed harder.

“I mean. The roses. And now… _this_ …capturing me for dinner, and setting up this…this…Wonderland…it’s really…um… _romantic_.” Harry finally got out, his face now a deep crimson.

Draco snapped his finger, and the plates and food vanished. He reached across for Harry’s hand, taking it in both of his own.

“I will try to give you the muggle fantasies you’ve grown up with. Mixed with the proper wizarding protocols, of course.” Draco sniffed. “All _this_ …with magic, is a small thing. Just a few spells and a trip to the joke shop in London. And reading through some really dreadful Muggle literature, let me tell you.”

He stopped as Harry giggled at that, then waited for sobriety to reign.

“There are…other things I can’t give you. I can promise them to you in the future, after…you know…after. But not until then. And I know from what I’ve read you’ll probably expect them before you’d agree to marry me.”

Draco pressed the hand in his softly.

“I…I hope to convince you that I will be worth waiting for those things.”

“Draco.” Harry spoke finally. “What things?”

Draco looked up into the green eyes. Honesty was so damnably difficult, no wonder his family tended to avoid it.

“Well, from my research, I understand it is customary to have sexual intercourse during the courtship process.” Draco leaned forward intensely, hoping to make his argument more compelling. “Harry...I _can’t_. _We_ can’t. If two wizards are going to have heirs together…and Harry, we _must_ have heirs…we will need a very powerful magical bonding, and the most powerful bondings have as their basis a consummation out of virginity.”

He waited with baited breath, watching Harry’s face.

Harry just looked at him closely for a moment, eyes clear and penetrating behind those spectacles, then nodded. Just…nodded.

“Okay.”

Draco let out a breath.

“Okay?”

Harry nodded.

“Lots of muggles wait until after marriage too, you know. It’s old-fashioned, but it’s not terribly weird. Some muggles would say it’s the only proper way, even. And it _is_ romantic, in a way.” He seemed to be looking at Draco’s throat suddenly, and his face colored and his eyes went a bit glassy. “Though…it will be hard.” The blush deepened. “Um, I mean, difficult. Not to…do….”

Draco let a small smile tug his lips, watching him flounder, face turning redder by the second.

Withdrawing his hands from Harry’s, he clapped them, summoning the main course.

Harry quickly distracted himself from his embarrassment by digging shamelessly into the food. After they had eaten in silence for a while, Harry finally broke it.

“What kind of food is this?” he asked.

“This, is Canarde a la presse.” Draco said impressively.

Harry looked at him uncomprehendingly, and Draco sighed. He’d known getting into this that some house training would be required.

“Pressed duck. It’s a very lovely French dish.”

“It’s good.” Harry said, just before he took a bite.

At least he didn’t speak with his mouth full like Ron.

“So, how are you going to convince me that it’ll be worth it to wait to have sex with you?” Harry asked, and Draco thanked a lifetime of training for the fact that he did _not_ spray wine all over the brilliant white tablecloth.

With some difficulty he continued to swirl the wine in his mouth until he had his throat muscles under control, then swallowed. Then he answered calmly.

“Actually I wasn’t worried about being able to convince you of _that_ ,” he said, sliding his hand stealthily under the table onto Harry’s knee. 

The teasing look on the Gryffindor’s face died away instantly and Draco felt a spark of that lustful magic snapping at his hand. 

“In fact, I think you already want me bad enough to wait.” 

Draco allowed his hand to slide a few inches forward, his thumb caressing back and forth on the inside of Harry’s thigh. Harry dropped his fork with a gratifyingly clumsy-sounding clatter. The leg was burning against his hand through the fabric of Potter’s trousers, a burning pleasure that was nearly painful. Draco continued his narrative in a softer voice.

“And after I’ve _nearly_ had my way with you…I expect you’ll be willing to go through just about any… _torture_ …in order to be allowed to finish it.” 

His hand slid forward to the top of the thigh, and he could feel Harry trembling under his touch. He realized he himself was trembling and his penis was painfully hard inside his trousers.

He let out a deep breath and quickly removed his hand from Harry’s leg. He took some satisfaction that Harry looked as disappointed as he felt.

“Merlin, you were right. It’s going to be hard.” He muttered, and started re-evaluating the strength of the precautionary spells he’d planned. Would the raw strength of Harry’s lustful magic overwhelm them?

They ate in silence for a while as they both recovered their composure.

Again it was the Gryffindor who broke the silence.

“So…if that’s not it…what else did you mean, that I’m going to have to wait for?”

Draco looked up at him for a long moment before answering.

“We can’t be seen together. Granger, and Ron, and Jamie…they are the only students who know I’m courting you, yes?”

Harry nodded.

“And Dumbledore, and Severus, and your werewolf friend. That’s as far as it can go. Until it’s done, sealed, and the blood gift completed.” Draco pronounced.

“Blood gift…Draco, what…”

Draco smiled wickedly at the Gryffindor.

“My first gift was a legendary magical sceptre that can potentially heal lycanthropy, and my second was a near-absolute protection charm powered by my own magical core. You may have observed a pattern that I’m not taking half-measures in this courtship. Surely you can deduce my choice for a blood gift.” Draco said.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, then his jaw dropped.

“You…you can’t be serious. Draco, you _can’t_!”

Draco just smirked at him and folded his arms.

“Can’t I?”

“No, I mean you actually _can’t_. I’m the only one who can. There’s a prophecy.”

“I know all about your prophecy.” Draco waved a hand dismissively. “I took that into account when I planned everything. That’s part of the reason why we can’t be seen together.”

Harry’s jaw had dropped lower.

“But…how could you know that?”

“I have my sources.” Draco smirked.

“Snape.” Harry’s jaw snapped shut in a grim line. Draco looked at him curiously. So Snape knew about the prophecy, did he? No wonder he’d chosen to become a spy. Well, Draco couldn’t very well tell a Potter a family secret like the Escribamens spell, so Snape would make an adequate foil.

“He _is_ my godfather, Harry. You didn’t think he’d let me walk into this completely blind, did you?” he said with a tinge of sarcasm. The thing was, his godfather _had_ been willing to do exactly that, something that Draco couldn’t exactly grill him for without explaining how he came to know the secret.

“I guess.” Harry said, sounding annoyed the secret had gotten out.

“Don’t press him about it, Harry. Please? Let him think you told me?” Draco appealed.

Harry looked into his eyes, then nodded.

“Okay. I won’t say anything. He was trying to help.”

Draco relaxed.

“Good.”

“So you won’t try to kill Volde-”

“Harry!” Draco protested violently. The last thing he wanted was to attract the Dark Lord’s attention to an intimate dinner between his chief lieutenant’s son and the Boy Who Lived.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“So you won’t try to kill him, then.”

“Of course not.” Draco sneered. “Not by my own hand, at least.”

Harry looked troubled.

“You’re planning something.”

Draco smirked.

“Just because I’m on your side doesn’t mean I’ve stopped my scheming. Now stop asking questions about your gift, it’s very improper.”

“Draco-”

Draco lifted an eyebrow and Harry fell silent, knowing he’d get nothing from him on the subject.

“Okay. So we have to be secret.” Harry agreed.

“But I still intend to… _romance_ you in private, Harry.” Draco assured him.

Harry smiled at him, an expression that lit up his face and made Draco feel suddenly lightheaded for a minute until his face seemed to sort of crumple.

Draco leaned forward, alarmed, hands reaching past dishes of steaming food to touch the Gryffindor on his face. Harry leaned into the contact desperately, tears escaping closed eyes.

“I want you to. I…I never thought you could love me, this is all so impossible I feel like I’m in a dream…” Harry whispered quietly.

Draco felt his heart suddenly turn into a dead weight in his chest.

The Love thing.

“Harry.”

Draco snapped his fingers and the meal disappeared from the table, replaced by four crystal glasses, two half full of water, and two half full of a deep red concoction.

Draco ignored them, standing and circling the table to kneel by Harry’s seat.

“Harry.”

Harry opened his eyes as Draco’s arms circled his waist, and willingly allowed himself to be pulled out of his chair to sit on the rich green velvet tablecloth below them. Draco cuddled him a for a moment until he’d calmed down, then twisted to look at his face.

“Harry, Granger told me to be honest with you. And…I really don’t think it’s a good idea, but she said it was absolutely the most important thing that I always am honest with you.”

Harry nodded and looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco paused, feeling a horrid lump in his throat. He knew he was about to hurt the Gryffindor horribly and somehow the idea made him horribly sick inside.

“I don’t love you, Harry.”

Harry blinked, his eyes flashing the sudden pain of betrayal, and he opened his mouth to protest.

Draco put a finger on that sweet mouth, silencing it.

“I want you, Harry. Very much. More than I’ve ever wanted anything, to tell you the truth. Perhaps I’ve wanted you since I first saw you, to hear my mother speak of it – I don’t know. But I certainly want you now. As a friend, as an ally, as my partner, as my husband in bed and in our home, as father to our children. And…more than that, you are…significant to me in a way beyond that…I find that even if I cannot have you as any of those, as I could never have you for the past five years, I find you are important nevertheless, that I habitually define myself in relation to you.”

“But isn’t that the same-”

Draco shushed him again.

“ _No_ , Harry. I don’t love you. I love my mother. And my father. And even my aunt Bellatrix, mad as she is. Love is for family, Harry. And I want you to become part of my family, to be my husband, _so I can love you_. You’re _dangerous_ being so significant to me and _not_ being someone I can safely love. So…there’s only one way to love you, and save myself. I don’t understand how you can love me, Harry, unless you are more sensitive to our relation through Jamie because you are an orphan. But that creates a danger to you as well. It’s best for both of us if we are married, so I can love you back, and we can be a family and _be_ together, Harry!” Draco said, intent.

Harry was shaking in his arms, and Draco though he must be crying until he realized the Gryffindor was laughing. His gut wrenched painfully as he realized the other boy was hysterical with shock.

The laughter was suddenly audible, a horrible, sardonic, slightly bitter chuckle that made Draco cringe.

“That is…the most…fucked up thing I ever heard in my life!” Harry wheezed, holding his side.

“Harry,”

“No. _You_ , Draco. You’re so…so…fucked up…crazy pureblood bullshit…you don’t have a fucking clue, do you?”

Draco was silent.

Harry finished laughing and was suddenly _there_ , his green eyes filling Draco’s vision and his hand slipping behind his neck and there wasn’t any lust because it didn’t burn when Harry’s soft lips brushed against his own and then pressed against him like purest warmest silk that made something painful and needy turn over inside his chest and he dared not move for fear Harry might stop kissing him…

Harry pulled back and Draco found himself kneeling, perfectly still, eyes closed, not wanting to dispel the taste of Harry that lingered on his lips.

Harry spoke quietly.

“You’re right on one thing, Draco. I do love you. And I do want to marry you, too, once I know I can trust you.”

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he looked at Harry’s earnest face, feeling something inside him glowing with some unknown magical energy as he continued.

“If you want to have your delusions about what is and isn’t love, well…I don’t mind waiting to hear you say the actual words if I must.” Harry finished.

Draco found himself smiling softly at the Gryffindor in an entirely unMalfoyish way, but couldn’t bring himself to care. It was just Harry, he wouldn’t tell anyone.

“I…want you to be able to trust me, Harry.” Draco said, his voice oddly raspy in his throat.

“ _Should_ I trust you?” Harry asked.

“Not entirely. Not yet.” Draco said, trying to smirk. His facial control was a bit off. “I _am_ a Slytherin. But we can establish some basic level of trust necessary to complete our negotiations and…enable the bond.” He whispered the last part.

Harry looked at him searchingly.

“I want that.”

Draco nodded and turned to the table, taking one of the glasses in his hand. Harry cast an inquiring look at the concoctions on the table and Draco hastened to explain.

“This is another wizarding courtship tradition, that is used when the parties negotiating a marriage contract both happen to be Lords of their bloodlines. Extremely rare, of course, I found it in a very obscure volume in the family library.”

“What is it?” Harry indicated the glasses.

“Three drops of veritaserum diluted into water, and a Rules potion.”

“Rules potion?” Harry asked quickly.

“It will constrain you to ask questions only according to a certain form. This allows us to demand honesty from each other, but in a way that guarantees the protection of secrets that can only be divulged once married, or only to blood.”

“What sort of form?”

“You don’t ask the question directly. You ask what the other would tell you if you asked the question. Then you ask if that would be the truth, a half-truth, or a lie. Then you would ask if this would change after a marriage bond.”

Harry thought about it for a minute.

“So… you can refuse to answer a question, and even state a lie, but not deceive.” Harry surmised.

Draco beamed at the Gryffindor.

“Usually, the lies and refusals are more instructive than the open answers.”

Harry chuckled.

“Okay, so we drink both of these and take turns asking questions?”

“Exactly.”

Draco handed Harry the other glass of Rules potion, and they drank at the same time.

They chased the bitter-tasting serum with the veritaserum-laced water.

Draco took Harry’s arm and turned them away from the table.

Harry gasped at the sight laid out before him.

The white pillars of the candlesticks formed a cordon, all the way down the considerable length of the Head table, the gold candleholders with their exquisite carvings gleaming softly against the deep green of the tablecloth. The tongues of flame at the tops of the candles, up above their heads, like a line of soft-white fire casting shadows whose direction changed with the slightest puff of breeze.

Rose petals led the eye to the massive face of the single red rose that opened towards them...

And behind that, at the other end of that breathtaking avenue, the broad sparkle of the crystal wading pool, complete with its own smaller tongues of flame wandering the surface of the steaming water.

Draco slid his hand down the Gryffindor’s arm and clasped his hand, interlacing their fingers. Since Harry was momentarily struck dumb, Draco would get to ask the first question. Ah, how he loved being a Slytherin.

“So, Harry. What would you tell me if I asked you what the nature and purpose of the Marauder’s Map is?”


	18. Close Encounter

“Are your eyes still closed?” Draco asked suddenly. Harry’s arm tensed with guilty startlement under his hand, and Draco pulled him to a stop and leaned in to talk low in his ear.

“Am I going to have to get creative with a blindfold charm on you?”

Harry shivered and shook his head.

“I won’t peek, I swear.”

“Trust me, I’m only doing this to make it better for you.” Draco said, right into his ear again. He could smell Harry’s aftershave potion, twice as strong as it was that night under the Cloak. He’d been hard as a rock since he’d started the delicate task of navigating a safe path among dinner-plate sized petals, oak-tree sized candlesticks, and one gigantic rose covered in thorns the length of his arm. 

Oh, navigating, _and_ making sure one Gryffindor was keeping his eyes closed as promised. 

Not to mention the small task of leading said Gryffindor with a hand curled around the elbow, just below the swell of a bicep which kept hardening and rolling under his fingers…

There were more than one reasons Harry needed to keep his eyes closed, Draco thought, tugging on the boy’s arm to help him sidestep a rose petal. Just a few more steps and they’d be there.

“Eyes?”

“They’re closed!” Harry protested.

“Good. I want you to see this perfectly the first time!” Draco said, and pulled Harry forward just a few more steps until they were standing just before the intricately carved crystal.

That was the easy part. Now the hard part.

“Keep your eyes closed until I tell you.”

“I will,” Harry said, in a voice that said his eyes were rolling underneath those lids.

“Promise.”

“I promise, I’ll keep them closed till you say.”

Draco looked at his face, eyes scrunched shut and forehead crinkled with perplexed impatience.

He took a deep breath.

Then he carefully took off his robes.

Harry seemed to sense when Draco left his side.

“Draco?”

“Not yet,” he said firmly…as he moved…sooo slowly. Careful not to make any sound.

Harry’s sensitive ears caught something anyways.

“Draco? I hear water…”

“Keep your eyes closed, Harry. Please.”

Just a few more steps and he’d be decent.

Draco forced himself to keep his movements agonizingly slow until he was there.

Draco quietly lowered himself, until only his head and shoulders would be visible.

“Now, Harry.” He said quietly.

Harry’s eyes sprang open immediately, then widened dramatically, his mouth working soundlessly as he took in the sight Draco had prepared for him.

Harry’s eyes were glued to Draco, looking at his face in the candlelight, his shining blond hair, the trickles of water sliding down his toned chest, highlighting the glimmering pale skin in the multi-hued glow of the candles as it was slowly revealed, inch by inch, sliding out of the water until Draco was standing fully, the water covering him just below his belly button. Just barely high enough to conceal his raging erection.

Draco slowly, gracefully rose up out of the still water, ripples expanding in endless rings from the planes of his emerging torso, causing the teacup-sized floating candles to bob softly in an expanding circle of twinkling light around him.

Draco watched Harry watching him. Watched how the wide green eyes widened from perplexed curiosity to worshipful awe, then started to glimmer with some emotion much stronger than aesthetic appreciation, and finally warmed until they were burning with desire.

“Come swim with me, Harry.” Draco almost whispered the words.

Harry stared for a moment longer, then raised his hands, trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons of his robe, refusing to look down at what he was doing, eyes drinking in the sight of a naked Draco wading in a gigantic crystal basin of twinking water.

Finally, the robes were in a small puddle at Harry’s feet, and Draco almost groaned in frustration as he saw the Gryffindor was wearing full muggle regalia underneath. The shirt slipped effortlessly over Harry’s touseled head, baring tawny skin stretched richly across a lean musculature. Draco eyed the smooth tan skin for a moment while Harry tugged futilely at his trousers.

Finally, the metallic muggle contraption at the fly had been taken apart and Harry’s beautiful penis was exposed to Draco’s eyes in brief glimpses as he flailed around, stumbling his way out of his trousers and pants at once.

Draco found himself smirking as Harry finally fell forward almost flat on his face, rolling immediately to his side and that long, long body wriggling like an eel as inch after inch after inch of flesh was exposed, the trousers and pants working their way down his legs until Harry was deliciously nude and on his feet, dashing towards the crystal wading pool.

“ _Slowly_ Harry! This receptacle has been in my family for centuries.” Draco cautioned him when it looked like the Gryffindor was going to take a flying leap over the side.

Harry seemed to take this to heart, and climbed into the water one leg at a time. Draco never _did_ get a long clear look at his manhood.

Harry waded swiftly towards Draco, pushing small waves of water in front of him, and Draco noticed that the pink head of his own penis was exposed in the troughs between waves. He looked over at Harry and caught his breath at the brown head just barely breaking the surface.

“Oh, _Harry_ …you’re…you’re so-” Draco breathed, 

…and then Harry was on him, rough fingers clutching around Draco’s waist and pulling him forward and Draco felt the silky heat of Harry’s penis pressing into the crease between thigh and groin and his own painful erection was rubbing against Harry’s soft, soft skin as the raw energy burned and burned and _burned_ him but it felt so _good_ and someone was whimpering and Harry’s tongue was like fire in his mouth this time and he needed to touch Harry, touch him, and feel the searing heat of Harry’s penis as his fingers curled around it and stroked it and Harry was shuddering and the burning pain/pleasure of Harry’s sex magic was suddenly doubled and doubled again as Harry was growling and moaning into Draco’s mouth as his body thrashed against Draco’s and his penis was leaping in his hand and warm liquid spilling between them and Draco’s knees gave out as he came too but Harry’s strong arms held him up for Harry to keep devouring his mouth until they were both spent.

Harry seemed to come back to himself then, his predatory grace turning to awkward shyness as he fumbled for something to say.

“Draco…I…I…” Draco cut off the Gryffindor with a kiss to his blood-flushed lips, then buried his face in Harry’s neck, moving his lips minimally in vague kissing motions against the pretty tendon he found there.

Harry seemed to take the hint, wrapping his long arms around Draco in a way that made him feel more utterly safe than he’d ever thought possible.

That was _not_ how this was supposed to go, a small voice in the back of his head seemed to be saying. And it wasn’t. If the son of Lily Evans and the heir of two Founders had to be so powerful as to sweep him away on their honeymoon, Draco’s pride insisted on having his own form of dominance over the Gryffindor beforehand. A blowjob would have the inexperienced boy quivering in his hands, and signal Draco’s role as the teacher of the shy virgin in this relationship.

Or so Draco had planned. And so Draco had determined. Of course, that decision had been based on incomplete information. It had based on a…well…in all honesty a rather foolish assumption that sexual play with Harry Potter would be just a better version of the sexual play he’d enjoyed with Pansy, as well as with the various desireable Slytherins of both genders, since he’d first come into his pubescent desire for such things.

And of course, that had been very wrong. The sexual energy in those encounters had been a mere token, a tingling of magic that enhanced the physical sensations but was only a detail of the play. Those, of course, had all been purebloods, and none had been Founders Heirs, and certainly none had had anywhere near the inherent power that Harry Potter had swimming in his magical core.

Sexual play with Harry Potter was…different. Different because, while the sex was mind-blowing in itself, the pure natural physical sensations were a mere channel for the rushing tide of sex magic that completely overrode every conscious thought.

Harry Potter would be taught no lessons, much less reduced to any quivering mass of anything, by this pureblood. Until consummation balanced out their magical cores to each other, Draco was doomed to be the Gryffindor’s whimpering plaything.

The more disturbing thought was that the idea did not seem nearly as horrible as Draco had previously believed. Or, so said the small voice in the back of Draco’s mind. Draco wasn’t disturbed at all, at this moment.

Eventually Draco started thinking again.

“Harry, let’s get out of the water before the shrinking spell times out.”

Harry shifted, and Draco pulled back so he could see his face. Harry was looking around them, at the giant candlesticks and then beyond them at the Great Hall.

“I…I forgot…where…oh Merlin, I’m naked in the Great Hall!” Harry’s face was crimson with embarrassment.

Well. At least outside the bedroom Draco could still be the cool and collected one.

Draco smirked at the prudish Gryffindor and pulled him by the hand to the edge of the crystal basin. Two drying charms, and they were dressing themselves, Harry doing so at a frantic pace.

Composed, Draco took Harry’s hand again and led him along the avenue of candlesticks and rose petals back to the wide open space near where they’d eaten. He walked him to the edge of the table and the two stood staring down at the floor far, far below for a moment.

“Come on, we have to sit down for this.”

Draco guided Harry to sit on the edge and handed him the wand he’d taken earlier. Then he walked a ways away before sitting himself.

“Finite Incatatem”

The world shrunk around Draco and he looked over to meet green eyes, Harry also fully restored next to him.

Harry let out a breath.

“Wow.”

Draco found himself grinning unguardedly at him.

“The Finite? Or the sex?”

Harry smiled at him.

“Both. This is _all_ so…so…so _cool_!”

Draco smirked in amusement.

“I’m glad you liked it. I…I’ve never felt…I mean, that was wonderful for me, as well.” Draco said.

Harry leaned over and kissed Draco shyly on the cheek and Draco scowled at him as he felt his face warming. Harry giggled at him and hopped nimbly to the floor. Draco followed suit, following him to the door of the Great Hall where Harry turned to him with a serious look on his face.

“Thank you for tonight.” He said simply.

Draco smiled and accioed the Gryffindor’s Invisibility Cloak.

“You’re welcome. You’re worth it.” He said, and reached around Harry to place the Cloak over him, concealing his body from view. Draco leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Harry’s mouth before pulling the hood over his head.

He kept a hand on Harry’s arm under the Cloak as he whispered to where he knew his ear would be.

“I think I know you better after this. Maybe your muggle romance is pretty clever, in its own way. I…I’ll send you my first proposal tomorrow.”

There was an intake of breath, and Draco waited for Harry to panic at the mention of a proposal. What he’d read made it apparent that the romance usually went on for months before mention of a proposal was made, among muggles.

But after a moment, Harry gave a quick press of his hand.

“I’ll look forward to…um…reading it.”

And then Harry was gone from under his hand, the great doors opening and closing behind him as he moved away into Hogwarts.


	19. Non-Disclosure Clause

“What can I do for you, Lord Malfoy?” the goblin asked obsequiously.

“I’d like to speak with your employee. A Bill Weasley.” Draco told it firmly.

“On what business?” It demanded, suspicious.

“Family business.” Draco said.

“Mr. Weasley is very busy at the moment-”

“I’ll speak with your supervisor, then.” Draco said coldly.

In a moment another, much larger goblin was before him, introducing it with some foolish name that sounded just like all the other goblin names.

“I’ll speak with Mr. Bill Weasley, please.”

“Mr. Weasley is currently working. If you would like to wait he will be finished for the day in just under four hours.” The new goblin said.

“In that case, I would like to make a sizeable withdrawal.” Draco said, ice in his voice once again.

“We can provide you with all manner of charmed treasure chests, complete with lightening charms, anti-theft charms, state-of-the-art tamperer-imprisonment charms, and of course only for our most _prestigious_ customers, such as yourself, Lord Malfoy, we have newly developed a-”

Draco cut him off.

“Oh, I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken. I don’t think a single chest would do at all.”

The goblin rubbed its hands together in barely-concealed glee at this.

“Well, we _do_ have a somewhat limited supply of the very _best_ treasure chests, Lord Malfoy. After the first chest there is the matter of a quantity order, which involves additional fees, which I’m sure will not be a problem for one such as yourself-”

“I think it would be much more efficient to forego the use of treasure chests entirely. The Malfoy family has, of course, our own ships, I’ll just need to arrange delivery of the contents of our vaults, including all artifacts and heirlooms, to your wharf location in Alexandria.”

The goblin’s glee had faded, and indeed the goblin itelf was fading to a rather pale shade.

“The…contents…artifacts and heirlooms?”

“Why yes. I think our need for your find institution’s services has quite come to an end. We will of course keep the accounts and vaults open, with a token amount inside, but the bulk of our assets we will be removing to another location.” Draco said calmly.

“But…oh, Lord Malfoy, surely you would prefer to keep your assets _safe_! Here at Gringotts we have the most powerful magical protections in the entire world! It is most inadvisable to keep your valuable belongings in your _own_ properties!” the goblin tried.

“What would _you_ know about magical protections?” Draco sneered at it. “You’re a bloody quill-pusher for Merlin’s sake! I’m quite sure the protections we have in place at the new location will excel even Gringott’s best abilities.”

“Oh, but with great deference to the Lord Malfoy, this is simply not true! Gringotts employ the very best experts with wards and curses in the world! Private resources available for a price may seem impressive, but I beg the Lord Malfoy not to be taken in by those…those tricksters with their…their… _sand-traps_ and _golem_! These amateurs are trying to swindle you, Lord Malfoy! And undoubtedly, plan to return later to rob you blind themselves!” The goblin said, rather disdainfully.

Draco frowned at the goblin.

“What ever is wrong with sand-traps? Quite effective, I’d think. As much as I appreciate all the flashy effects of your wards here, I’m quite content with simpler ones that will prevent a thief from entering. In any case, the consultants I’ve hired are quite competent and trustworthy.”

The goblin wrung its hands woefully. The Malfoy accounts were a significant bulk of the Gringotts holdings, and the strength of the goblins form of magic was connected somehow to the extent of the riches squirreled away in their vaults.

“Whatever can we do to persuade you, Mr. Malfoy! I am certain that any wards this _consultant_ has created would be child’s play to our own curse-breakers, and to many a thief as well. The level of expertise you need is simply not out there, we’ve hired all the best ones ourselves…this is how we insure that our wards are impenetrable in the first place!”

Draco paused dramatically.

“Child’s play, you say?”

“Oh yes! A very simple thing! These consultants…the wards they would have made would make _our_ weakest curse-breaker laugh with disdain!”

“I see.” Draco looked down at the creature as if carefully considering something.

“I suppose…I should be very sure about the security of the new locations before moving my gold there. That would be, perhaps…rash.”

The goblin nodded in frantic agreement.

“Most rash indeed, Lord Malfoy! Perhaps instead I could interest you in a new invention we have stolen from the Muggle world. It is called a credit stone, most of the more expensive shops now have the means to deduct an amount directly from your account simply by you placing your official Gringotts credit stone on their counter and tapping it with your wand!” the goblin hurried on excitedly.

“I’ve no interest in your filthy Muggle nonsense.” Draco cut it off coldly, though in fact the idea of such free and easy shopping interested him quite a bit indeed. Still, he recognized a distraction when he heard it. His mother would be quite happy to investigate the matter of the credit stone at a later date. “I’ve come to move my accounts, and I’ll not be dissuaded so easily.”

“Oh, but Lord Malfoy! We’ve already established that our experts are far more advanced than your consultants! Your money is very safe here! Now, if not the credit stones, perhaps I might interest you in-”

“No. We haven’t established anything of the kind.” Draco said firmly.

“Oh, but it is true!”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. I am _very_ confident in my consultants, you see. Still, I would like to make sure. Perhaps you would be willing to help me test my wards to see if they are worthy of their task?” Draco raised a speculative eyebrow.

The goblin looked positively scandalized.

“Oh, but they _aren’t_ worthy, Lord Malfoy!”

“Yet _I_ am quite certain that they are, and all you’ve offered me to the contrary is your word. The word of a _goblin_.” Draco sniffed disdainfully, as if goblins hadn’t been entrusted with the wizarding world’s wealth for millennia.

The goblin gaped.

“Well. If the Lord Malfoy would _question_ …we could offer to prove this!” it finally said.

“Prove it _how_? I suppose you think _your_ curse-breakers will make short work of my warded locations?” Draco sneered.

“Oh yes, indeed they would! Yes, Lord Malfoy! We will send one of our curse-breakers to look at your wards, and you will see him penetrate them ever so easily! Gringotts wards are the only truly safe protections for your riches, Lord Malfoy!” the creature assured him.

“Very well. But I don’t want one of your little... _brethren_ tramping around on my family grounds. You _do_ have competent… _human_ curse-breakers, I hope?”

The goblin frowned.

“Well, yes, one. But he is so very much in demand, you see.”

“Well, if you’re not willing to prove otherwise, I think I’ll take my chances with my consultants, then.” Draco sniffed. “I’ll be sending our fleet of ships to your Alexandria wharf location by tomorrow at dawn. I _do_ expect the contents of our vaults will be ready by then.”

“Wait! Wait, I’ll see if Mr. Weasley could be spared for this matter!” the goblin begged, walking backwards to the door of the office before disappearing in a manic rustle of limbs.

Draco just smiled grimly as he counted the time until the door opened again.

Exactly two minutes later, Bill Weasley entered the room, a lopsided and somewhat confused grin on his face.

“Malfoy?”

“Hello Bill.”

“Oh right. Draco, I mean.” Bill said awkwardly.

“I heard about your engagement. A veela. _Very_ impressive. Molly must be very proud.” Draco started off.

Bill lit up like a sudden lumos on a dark night, eyes going dreamy as he sighed out a reply.

“Oh! Fleur, yeah, she’s well…yeah, she’s amazing! Mom just loves her!”

Draco chuckled.

“And I see that Allure has you very much in its grasp, too!”

Bill snapped out of it, and gave a sheepish grin.

“I guess she’s got me wrapped around her finger, all right! But you didn’t come all the way to Egypt to talk about my engagement! Ol’ Grup was in an awful state and just told me to do what you say no matter how dangerous, then went off muttering about how dangerous and unreliable human-made wards are. Care to enlighten?”

Draco grinned at the red-haired curse-breaker.

“Well, let’s just say I used a few Slytherin tricks to get you free from your normal duties to help me out with something a lot more important.”

Bill snorted.

“More important than gold? Don’t let the goblins hear you say that!”

“I didn’t intend for them to.” Draco smirked.

“Okay, so what do you have in mind then?”

“I need you to penetrate some locations to retrieve some items…shall we say…of _mine_.” Draco winked.

“Stealing’s pretty serious business.”

“Well, the artifacts in question were all actually themselves stolen, and I intend to return them to their proper owners.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Besides the joy of restoring them to their rightful owners?” Draco asked innocently.

“Yes, besides that.” Bill asked dryly.

“Well, I _do_ plan to use them in a ritual first. Nothing that will reduce their value to their rightful owners, you understand. But very helpful to my plans.”

“Okay, sounds reasonable to me. As long as I have your word they _will_ end up with their rightful owners.”

“Wizards Oath?” Draco offered.

“I think Placitum Perago will be quite enough.”

Draco cocked his head. Placitum Perago was considered the less extreme type of magical contract. Instead of killing the one who broke his promise, it mainly just caused the original terms of the agreement to occur magically, at the breaching party’s expense. In this case, the timing of the promise could be important, however.

“I think I’d rather be held to my word more solidly, actually. It’s not an easy thing to restore a family name that means “bad faith”. Better to be seen to uphold my oath than to have the object appear out of thin air if I take too long.” Draco suggested.

Bill nodded, and opened the door to let a goblin in to administrate the Oath.

“I’ll want your promise to actually deliver the items to me if you penetrate security and recover them, also.” Draco added, and when Bill agreed they both submitted to the Oath.

With the Oath settled and the goblin gone, Draco set a quick security bubble over the two of them.

“Okay. There are two items I need you to recover, in two locations. I think you’ll know what I want them for when you analyze them. Suffice to say that I know what use they’ve been put to and I don’t approve in the least.” Draco said.

Bill nodded, a curious look on his face.

“You’ll know what I’m talking about. Best if these things are not spoken of aloud. Or in writing. When you find them, contact me and I will receive you at Malfoy Manor to take them off your hands.”

“You’re not going to tell me what this is about?”

“No. But I think when you consider the wording of my Oath, and the nature of the items, you’ll understand how important this task is. What I will tell you is a list of the known wards and protections around each item.”

Draco handed Bill two small scrolls written in his own hand.

“I wish you the best of luck. I expect you’ll need it.” He shook Bill’s hand firmly. “But then, you _are_ the best ward-worker Hogwarts has produced. In more generations than we have to be concerned about. I’m confident my trust is well placed.”

He offered Bill a smile, which was tentatively returned.

“Alright then. I guess I’m going to have to find things out for myself.”

Draco nodded.

“I’ll be seeing you then, Bill.”

“Looking forward to it. Draco.”

 

The portkey brought Draco to the gates of Hogwarts, and he entered the Great Hall just in time for breakfast.

Harry looked rumpled and just-dragged-out-of-bed, as always, and Draco felt the sudden urge to pin the Gryffindor down long enough to see what a few neatening charms would do to his appearance. He offered the green-eyed boy a small scowl and received a grin in reply.

He immediately darkened his scowl at the inappropriate display and with a jab from Granger, Harry quickly changed his expression to a noncommittal frown.

Much better.

As he was just turning away, Draco caught a small movement of Harry’s hand, a flash of the top end of a scroll of parchment…a sly wink.

Ah. Two weeks and Harry was still poring through his proposal contract. No doubt, Granger was invaluable to him there, Draco thought enviously. If only Pansy or Blaise had her organizational skills. He wondered idly what Granger would make of the anti-incest clauses in the agreement. He hoped the vague boilerplate language his barristers had constructed would be sufficiently discreet to avoid embarrassing Harry.

“Draco!” Pansy squealed in delight, in full public empty-headed girlfriend mode. “You came to breakfast! Where have you been all evening?”

Draco rolled his eyes and sat next to her, let her lean close to him, and couldn’t help noticing the narrow-eyed glare of green eyes across the hall. 

He smirked. 

The Gryffindor was clearly jealous.

Still. Best not to encourage it. His plans would be severely set back if the boy became angry enough to make a public scene. He shrugged Pansy off of him.

“Egypt. Business. Tired.” He gingerly accepted the marmalade-smeared toast she handed him.

“Did you get to the Great Library? Now you’re the Lord Malfoy you should have access.” Blaise asked interestedly.

“No. Gringotts. Can’t talk about it.” Draco grunted. He _was_ tired. Intercontinental portkeys used a _lot_ of magic, and it bled into a wizard in a way that wasn’t energizing at all.

At that moment, his interrogation was interrupted by the entrance of the massive flock of owls. Draco rescued his toast as the Daily Prophet dropped down in front of him.

Blaise snatched it and immediately unrolled it, letting out a soft gasp.

He was echoed by hundreds of similar gasps as the Great Hall collectively got their daily headlines.

“Draco…you need to look at this…”

Blaise handed the paper to Draco, who took another bite of his toast before glancing at the headline.

His blood ran cold.

_AZKABAN BREAKOUT! DEATH EATERS ESCAPE!  
By Rita Skeeter_

_Just before dawn this morning, sources report that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stormed the fortress prison Azkaban with a strike force of approximately 100 Death Eaters and over 200 Dementors. The Dementors guarding the prison reportedly joined forces with the attackers as they arrived, and Kissed 12 Aurors and 37 prisoners during the raid. An additional 19 Aurors are in St. Mungos recovering from Dark Hexes during the very short battle that culminated in the escape of over 30 convicted Death Eaters from the prison, including of note Lucius Malfoy, the Lestrange brothers Rabastan and Rodolphus, Antonin Dolohov, and Walden Macnair._

_Witnesses report seeing the Dark Mark above the fortress prison, and the location of the escaped convicts is unknown at this time. The Ministry has yet to make an official statement on the subject, but we can only assume that they are busy trying to locate these dangerous criminals, especially Lucius Malfoy, who is alleged to be the highest ranked Death Eater and a close advisor to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_With the army of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now replenished, inquiring minds want to know what Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter and the Ministry will do to protect the wizarding world from this fearful menace!_

The noise of a hundred some students hissing under their breaths as they read this was interrupted by the “thunk” of Harry Potter’s head hitting the table in despair. Draco looked over with concern just in time to see the doors to the Great Hall slam open and the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, strode in, accompanied by several Aurors.

Dumbledore, up at the Head Table, stood up to greet the men.

“Gentlemen. Is there something I can do for you this morning?”

Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, and nodded, his gaze zeroing in immediately on Draco.

“We have some questions for Mr. Malfoy, here.”

Dumbledore considered this.

“I believe he has a title now, my boy.”

The Head Auror paused, stunned at the rebuke.

“Very well. We have some questions for the young _Lord_ Malfoy, Headmaster. I’m sure you’re aware of just how important this is?”

“I’m aware of the breakout, yes.”

Shacklebolt turned to scrutinize Draco carefully.

“We have reason to believe your _Lord_ Malfoy has been… _away_ during this previous evening. I’m sure you can agree the circumstances are most pointed in this case.”

“I will permit you to interview my student, Kingsley.”

"That's not enough." Scrimgeour interjected. "The boy is a known Dark Wizard and the son of You-Know-Who's right hand man. He should be in custody."

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that at this point.” Dumbledore disagreed.

"We aren't asking. As Minister of Magic, I've issuedan executive order that all necessary steps be taken to investigate the breakout and recover the prisoners, particularly Lucius Malfoy." Scrimgeour said, purposely loud enough for everyone to hear. Obviously he was here to generate headlines.

“Headmaster, I know you’re thinking he’s just a boy, but this is also a Malfoy we’re talkin’ about, don’t forget! He’s as snakey as they come, that one, and now he’s caught out we can’t be letting him slip-slide his way out of it!” Auror Moody added.

Draco hadn't noticed the one-legged, one-eyed old Auror until now. He shivered, remembering the polyjuiced Crouch back in fourth year.

Dumbledore seemed to suddenly notice the interest the conversation had garnered among the students.

“Gentlemen, I think this is quite enough public discussion. Lord Malfoy, if you would, please join us in my office?” Dumbledore said politely.

Draco nodded shortly and followed the Headmaster to his office, feeling Moody’s strange eye on him the whole while.

The Aurors set about putting a chair in the center of the room, and Draco was unsubtly “encouraged” to sit in it. The Aurors lined the walls, except for Shacklebolt, who sat next to Dumbledore to the front of Draco.

“I think I’m going to have to insist on my barrister being present before any questioning takes place.” Draco started off.

“Shut up boy. You’re not going to have your little slick-tongued barrister here to talk you out of this.” Moody growled.

“Alistor.” Dumbledore rebuked him.

“You’re a good wizard, Headmaster. But you’ve got too soft a heart. First Riddle, this one’s just the same kind. Black a wizard as they come, and if he isn’t a Death Eater now he’ll be one later, that I’ll promise you.”

“Actually, I’d rather decided I don’t like tattoos.” Draco said coolly.

“ _Sure_ you did.” Moody sneered, and with a quick word had slashed his sleeve from his robes…taking a bit of his skin with it. Draco gasped and cradled his bleeding arm. The Aurors had seen the unmarked skin, however.

Mutters of surprise and consternation swept the group.

“Alistor. That was uncalled for.” Dumbledore said gently, and came forward to heal the wound.

Scrimgeour looked worried. One thing to take the hard line on nasty Malfoys, but he didn't want his Aurors brutalizing young wealthy Scions of powerful families. That sort of image was political suicide.

"Shacklebolt. _Do_ something!" he whispered to the Head Auror.

“Stand down, Moody. If he tries to run, you can hex him. Otherwise, keep your wand at your side.” Shacklebolt ordered.

Moody retired to the doorway, muttering about constant vigilance and Malfoys.

“Lord Malfoy. Last night you used a portkey to take you to a foreign location, where your activities or continued travels are unknown until you returned to Hogwarts this morning. During that time, I’m sure you aware a notorious prison breakout involving one of your close family members occurred. I think you can see we have enough circumstantial evidence to bring you to the Ministry for questioning if we choose.” Shacklebolt began.

“I think I’d like to have my barrister with me. As is my right.” Draco said, stubbornly.

Scrimgeour looked nervous again, but the Head Auror had a stubborn look on his face.

“Now, my boy. I think as the informed neutral party here I can tell you that, circumstances as they are, the Ministry can make your life difficult for quite some time if it chooses.” Dumbledore said soothingly, then turned to Shacklebolt. “And I’m also sure that this can all be explained satisfactorily and with a minimum of inconvenience for all parties if we cooperate together.”

Draco eyed the Headmaster.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I think a small dose of Veritaserum is all that we need to establish that you were not involved in the attack on Azkaban.” Dumbledore said simply.

Draco thought frantically. Under Veritaserum he might reveal his knowledge of the Horcruxes! He met the Headmasters eye.

“While I’m anxious to prove my innocence, I am concerned that the nature of my business this morning remain…confidential.” Draco met the Headmasters eye and pushed the word “Horcruxes” to the forefront of his mind. The Headmaster blinked, slowly, then nodded.

“I think we can agree to keep the questions general enough to avoid prying into your family’s private business affairs, wouldn’t you say so Kingsley?”

The Head Auror blinked again in surprise at how accommodating the Headmaster was to their suspect, but nodded slowly.

“So long as they’re also specific enough the boy can’t squirm out of telling the truth we need to know.”

Dumbledore looked again to Draco.

“In that case, I’ll still want to minimize my audience, in case of slips. The Headmaster, the Head Auror, and another Auror of your choosing. And all under an Oath for secrecy of any details that don’t bear directly on the Azkaban escape.” Draco negotiated.

Dumbledore nodded at that and looked to Scrimgeour.

"I'm willing to step outside." the politician said. The last thing he wanted was to be a direct part of an illegal interrogation by Veritaserum.

Dumbledore looked at Shacklebolt next. The Head Auror's eyes were hard with suspicion.

“Moody.”

Draco’s hackles raised. He would have preferred anyone but the creepy Auror with the prosthetic eye. But he nodded.

Scrimgeour officiated the second Oath Draco had participated in today. At this rate, he was going to have to get a secretary just to keep up with his lethally-binding commitments on a monthly basis.

That done, Scrimgeour discreetly exited the office, along with most of the Aurors, and Moody shuffled forward to carefully place three drops of Veritaserum on Draco’s tongue and watch him swallow it.

“What is your name?”

“Lord Draco of Malfoy”

“What school are you enrolled in?”

“Durm-, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry.” Draco said, the lie twisting in his mouth to the correct answer.

Moody seemed satisfied, but kept both eyes on him warily.

“Where did you go last night?”

“Egypt.”

“Where in Egypt?”

“Gringotts Bank Office, Wards and Curses Division, Office of-”

“That’s enough. Why did you go to Egypt?”

Draco paused, figuring out the best way to answer.

“To arrange for part of a betrothal gift.”

Moody blinked in surprise.

“For whom?”

“Don’t answer that Mr. Malfoy!” Dumbledore interjected, but not before Draco got out:

“For Harry Potter.”

Shacklebolt and Moody stared at him, stunned.

Dumbledore sighed.

“You were not supposed to know that, gentlemen.”

Shacklebolt turned from Dumbledore to Draco in surprise, before blurting out his next question.

“You’re betrothing to Harry Potter?”

“No, I’m courting him.” Draco answered tonelessly.

“Is this a plot to kill him?”

“No, just a plot to marry him and have his babies.” Draco was mortified at this point, thankful that at his age the Veritaserum at least gave him the small dignity of a flat, hypnotized-sounding voice and slack face.

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s fucking gorgeous and I want him!” Draco snapped, then horrified, added “I wish to unite his royal bloodlines into the Malfoy family.”

Moody was mumbling something about faulty Veritaserum and Shacklebolt was just staring at Draco, shocked at the revelation.

Draco noticed that Dumbledore hadn’t protested this line of questioning. Clearly he wanted surety of Draco’s sincerety as much as the others did. Well, now you know what I’m after, you nosy old man, get me out of this!

“Gentlemen, I believe we’ve gotten off subject.” Dumbledore intoned.

“Right. Did you go anywhere besides Egypt?” Shacklebolt was all business now.

“Only back to the gates of Hogwarts.”

“Did you go anywhere besides Gringotts while you were not at Hogwarts?”

“No.”

“Were you aware of any plans for a breakout or attack at Azkaban?”

“No.”

“Have you been contacted by Lucius Malfoy in any way?”

“No.”

“Will you notify Ministry authorities if he does contact you?”

“No.”

Shacklebolt raised a eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“He’s blood.”

Moody seemed to understand that, at least.

“If your father interferes with your…plot…to marry Harry Potter, what will you do?”

“Disown him.” Draco was surprised at the lack of hesitation in his voice.

“Will he interfere?”

“He won’t dare.”

“Why not?”

“Family is everything. And he’d be on the losing side of the war.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I’m making sure that Harry Potter will win. And you’re getting close to the sorts of secrets people get killed to keep.” Draco added meaningfully.

“I think that’s enough, gentlemen.” Dumbledore agreed. “Are you satisfied that Mr. Malfoy is innocent?”

Moody glared at Draco.

“Of _this_ one. But I still think you’re pulling something, Malfoy. I’ll be watching you!” he threatened, eye spinning crazily.

Draco shuddered and stood from the chair. Strange how being isolated in the middle of the room and scrutinized would make the padded chair so uncomfortable.

“I’ll be returning to classes, then.” He said coolly.

Behind him he heard Shacklebolt exclaiming, “ _Marry_ Harry Potter? Is he _serious_?”

 

Draco made his way to his room and found the regal eagle owl waiting for him. He sighed as he retrieved the black envelope from its sharp claws.

_Draco. You should come home for dinner this weekend. I believe we have things to discuss. N.M._

His eyes narrowed as he observed the slightly different slant of the ‘i’, the crossing of the ‘t’ whose ends curled up instead of down, an abnormal comma here, an out-of-character phrasing there. The coded message was something he’d learned before he’d actually learned the standard alphabet, and he read it instinctively. 

_Father hiding home. Unaware of your plan still. Come._


	20. Confrontations and Collaborations

The young Lord Draco Malfoy stepped out of the ornate carriage and strode towards the main entrance of his home with every ounce of pomp he’d been taught growing up.

“Dizzy.”

There was a pop, and the diminuitive house elf appeared.

“Can Dizzy be helping Master Malfoy?”

“The walkway is not appropriately polished.”

Dizzy gasped, and immediately pulled out an ancient-looking bed-warmer, the handle of which was encrusted with jewels, and began beating herself over the head with the brass coal-pan on the end.

Draco admired her technique for a long moment. The bed warmer was a very awkward weapon for self-discipline, as it involved a four-foot long handle, at the end of which was a round pan, sealed closed by a lid. The pan was endowed with a multitude of charms to preserve the toasty state of the warmed sheets for the remainder of the night.

The device, of course, predated the development of sufficiently precise warming charms that house elves later could aim at their masters beds during the night without risking injuries…which practice also predated the more general environmental control charms that the Manor was now imbued with.

Dizzy, like many house elves, was extremely old-fashioned, and had refused to part with the bed-warmer she had used in her early years. As house-elves were not permitted to have personal effects that served no purpose, she had adapted it to this one.

And well-done, too. Dizzy was holding the handle about a foot from the end, her small hands poised down at knee-level, snapping the brass pan up towards her face with admirable precision.

Still. It didn’t do to sit around admiring house elves. Even such skillful ones as Dizzy.

“That’s enough.”

The brass pan froze mid-swing, and once again Draco had to suppress a twinge of awe at the wrist strength that precipitated complete control over the instrument.

“Which house elves were tasked with this responsibility?”

“It was Tizzy and Dipsy, Master Malfoy!”

“They will polish and shine every inch of marble, and every cobblestone of every Malfoy path or road on the Manor grounds, before they eat or rest.”

“Yes Master! It is ordered!”

Dizzy disappeared with a pop, and moments later, two houseelves appeared on their knees, industriously alternating between scrubbing the nearest stone surface and smacking themselves on the head with the scrub brush. Not nearly as impressive a technique as Dizzy’s, Draco noted sourly.

Sniffing at their clumsy attempts at self-punishment, the Lord Draco Malfoy mounted the grand stairs, the massive double-doors swinging wide before him as he entered his domain.

As was custom, Draco found something wrong about every room he entered, and soon the full contingent of Malfoy houseelves were busy, frantically scrubbing, polishing, sweeping, warming, cooling, painting, remodeling, rearranging, and, of course, simultaneously self-flagulating.

“Draco? Are you home?” his mother’s voice carried down the main staircase. 

Ah yes. Tipsy had been called directly from her rooms, where no doubt his mother had been reorganizing her jewelry or taking a bath or having tea or some such nonsense.

Not deigning to yell through the house (it was, of course, acceptable for the lady of the house to call out to the Lord, as it indicated their eagerness to see the Lord return to his domain), Draco took the main staircase to the second floor, his footsteps measured, dignified.

He found his mother having tea with his Aunt Bellatrix.

Lovely. He’d been meaning to get some quality time with his dear Aunt for quite some time now.

“Mother. Bellatrix. Good evening, please don’t allow me to interrupt…I should like to confer with an ancestor for a moment before I sit down with the both of you.” Draco said mildly.

His mother nodded, the message received.

“You may wish to retire to your study, then. May I recover the services of Tipsy, in the meantime?”

“Of course, whatever you desire, Mother.” Draco said graciously.

Which meant, of course, that now she would be able to give the house elves other duties besides the “emergency tasks” that Draco had just set on them, for purpose of ceremony.

Draco found it interesting that his mother thought he would find Lucius in his study. The former Lord would certainly not be able to enter it without his express permission, after all.

Draco frowned and swiftly made his way to his study.

He found his father pacing before the door, looking quite agitated and annoyed, now and then attempting various bloodline-recognition spells on the door to the study, to no avail.

“Lucius. Father.” Draco spoke.

His father stopped, his heels clicking to the floor precisely.

“Draco. My study seems to have switched masters in my absence.” His father said, with the perfect amount of sardonic amusement coloring his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly as if entertained by some irony. His face looked worn, wrinkled in places it had previously been unblemished, the cheeks hollow and the eyes with only a glimmer of the powerful force that had burned behind them all his life. This worn face was carefully arranged in an expression of simple peace and dignity, the face of a man who has suffered injustice and has come with power to reclaim his own.

Draco knew otherwise.

“It is my study now, father. You are a convict, and therefore unable to act as Lord under the law. I had a time convincing the Manor that you are not, in fact, deceased.”

His father’s face relaxed neatly into a look of peaceful contemplation at the news, followed by sharp understanding. There was a slight snap of disgruntlement in the very depths of the grey eyes that only Draco would have caught.

“Indeed. And here I am, still breathing. Let us retire to the library then.” He said.

Draco carefully kept his face pleasant, not letting his eyes narrow. Lucius was clearly testing him, attempting to exert control over the situation.

“Nonsense, my office is right here, and much more private.” Draco said easily, and the door to the office swung open before him. “Come in, father.”

The slight falter in his father’s step was barely discernable, and Draco realized the Dementors had somewhat thinned the man’s implacable will. Still, Draco didn’t allow his dismay at that thought keep him from driving the final blow, by sitting behind the massive desk and leaving his father a seat before it.

Lucius looked uncomfortable sitting on the seat Draco had taken as a boy, and that Lucius had no doubt taken long ago while Abraxas Malfoy was still Lord.

Draco watched him, saw his drawn face, paled with the implications of his new position of weakness within the family hierarchy. Shadows from months spent in the company of Dementors.

This was the man he had worshipped as a child. Whose memory he still worshipped, at least the memory of an earlier time. Who had taught him everything, made him into the Lord he was now. And now he sat, repressing shivers, on the wrong side of the desk he had once wielded.

Draco felt a heaviness of pain at the realization that this man he had loved from infancy was now less than what he was. He resisted the sharp sensation behind his eyes, knowing his father would be further diminished to see his son reduced to tears at his condition.

No. He would be the Lord Draco Malfoy, with all the icy power and carefully measured familial love that that exalted title expected. And his father would know that he had at least succeeded in one of his life’s works.

“Father. We are ever so pleased to see you home again.” He pitched his voice soft and velvety, remote in its dispassion but intimate in its depth of sincerity.

His father looked up at him, some resentment still in his eyes. The man’s emotional shields were paper-thin, Draco saw, and decided to give him the dignity of _those_ emotions rather than the more debilitatings lingering behind it, waiting for an ounce of kindness to set him to weeping and raging. 

Let his mother deal with that. Fathers need respect from their sons, not sympathy.

Draco reverted to the formal hierarchy that would reinforce those harder emotions.

“You arrive at a fortuitous time, Lucius. I look forward to your counsel on the strategies I have put into place to profit our family in the war. I expect you will be impressed by the lofty end I have set.”

Lucius’ eyes hardened at Draco’s casual mention of their respective roles as decider and advisor, but nodded, the resentment bitten back in the bitter knowledge that this was proper.

“I’m glad to hear you’ve preserved the fruits of my labors, Draco. Narcissa would not tell me whether you had been to see Our Lord in my absence.”

“Oh, but I have not.” Draco told him. “I’ve determined a path to much greater power than your stint as His lowly servant could have achieved.”

Lucius drew in a deep breath at the barb, but pressed forward.

“Surely the Dark Lord could not have offered a greater reward than the power he offered me as his Right Hand!”

Draco leaned back, relaxed.

“Even as his Right Hand, you would have still been a slave, wouldn’t you?”

“Slave to the Dark Lord, Draco! There is no higher position relative to such a powerful being!”

“Isn’t there? Many powerful beings have taken allies and made equal bonds, father.”

“The Dark Lord does not, Draco. And he is by far the most powerful being in our world.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“He is _immortal_ , Draco!”

“Due to Horcruxes, not his own inherent magic. He is strong, but not the only power in the world.”

Lucius sat back in shock.

“Surely you don’t mean that old fool! Draco, what have you _done_?”

Draco snorted.

“The old fool is just an old fool.” He waited a long moment, watching his father try to puzzle it out.

“You never did manage to get under the same roof as him, did you?” Draco asked quietly.

Lucius looked at him in surprise.

“Of course I did! His scroll should have been one of the first you found!”

“Not Dumbledore! Forget that old man! I’m talking about _him_!”

His father’s face dawned with sudden, horrified understanding.

“Potter!”

Draco leaned back again, relaxed.

“Yes. Potter.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“You never did manage to learn about him, father. Don’t be hasty.”

“I’ve seen him duel our Lord, and he was beyond outmatched, Draco. The Potter boy is worthless.”

“Yet, the Dark Lord failed to kill him. Yet, he killed the Dark Lord as an infant. By accident. Yet, he took the Killing Curse and walks to this day.” Draco said in a monotone voice.

“The Dark Lord told us…”

“The Dark Lord told you many things, just before he failed to kill him. More than once. The Dark Lord is a failure, a half-blood without even the benefit of a Mudblood mother.”

“He is the descendant of Slytherin.”

“Who batters the walls of his crypt in an effort to escape and purge his line. Potter is a descendant of Gryffindor, and pure.”

“Gryffindor is _weak_.”

“Gryffindor’s Heir may as well have Felix Felices running through his veins!” Draco snapped.

His father sneered.

“How unbecoming, to excuse your failures by claiming your rival has an inheritance of good luck!”

“How foolish, to sneer at claims made by someone who has examined the list of his rival’s magical inheritances, when you have not.” Draco replied calmly.

Lucius stopped.

“You’ve completed his scroll.”

“Of course I have.”

“Our Lord would pay dearly for such information, Draco.”

“ _Your_ Lord would torture you for the source of it, Lucius.”

Lucius’ face darkened at the choice of pronoun.

“Draco, you would be _wise_ to-”

Draco stood up suddenly.

“No. _You_ would be wise to remember that I am _Lord_ of this family now, father. And much wiser to recognize that I would never make nice with Potter if it were not a benefit to our family!”

“What benefit could he possibly offer you to compare with the Dark Lord!”

Draco smirked, and reached down to open the small drawer to one side of the desk. He pulled out a narrow box of dark wood and placed it on the desk between them.

His father looked at it dubiously.

“Go ahead, Lucius.” Draco smirked.

His father examined his face carefully before reaching forward to pull the lid from the container.

And sat back with shock, full horror across his face at what he found there.

It was a bond-knife, an old Malfoy heirloom, that was used for wizard-wizard marriages.

“ _Draco_. You can’t possibly mean to _marry_ Potter! Our bloodlines, his mother was a Mudblood! You would _dilute_ our blood with his contaminated blood? And Gryffindor? Have you any idea what would happen to our line if our descendants were influenced by the Gryffindor magic?” Lucius spat.

“Besides the taint of Felix Felices in their veins, you mean?” Draco smirked.

“Be _serious_ Draco! The _Weasleys_ are Gryffindors!”

“The Weasleys are _sorted_ into Gryffindor. Without the benefit of his gifts. Incidentally, you should be made aware, _Arthur_ and I have made peace.”

His father looked like he’d suddenly swallowed a jobberworm.

“The _Potters_ , on the other hand, have been Gryffindor’s heirs, and have done quite well for themselves. Not as well as _Malfoy_ , of course, but extremely respectable.”

“And like true heirs of Gryffindor, _Potters_ do not usually live to see their thirtieth year.” Lucius pronounced.

“Very true. Which makes it very fortunate that the Dark Lord was so kind as to make Harry Potter his magical heir.” Draco said idly.

His father started to sneer, then just stared at him, his face white.

“What?”

“Potter has all of Slytherin’s gifts. It really shouldn’t be such a surprise, father. We knew he was a Parselmouth in my second year at Hogwarts, and that gift is only hereditary.”

Draco leaned forward, ready to set out the facts simply for his father.

“Potter is the heir of Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin. And the Dark Lord, of course, though fortunately he isn’t diluted by the empty blood of the Dark Lord’s _muggle_ father since that inheritance is through the soul rather than through blood. After our marriage, the future Malfoy line will benefit from the combined gifts of the two most powerful Founders, never before combined. The Potter line will benefit from the refinement of our blood, which should calm some of the wild magic they are prone to, and the Black line will have the benefit of both.”

His father blinked at him in shock.

Draco smiled.

“Of course, since I’m giving your _former_ Master to Potter as a Blood gift, your return will be most helpful in smoothing the way.”

Draco sat back. The message was clear that as Lord he was demanding Lucius withdraw his loyalty to the Dark Lord. And of course, Lucius had no choice. Not unless he would disown himself from the family entirely. And Draco knew his father well enough to know that Lucius was first a Malfoy, and a Death Eater as a far distant second.

His father’s jaw clenched, his face white with a momentary flash of rage, all but invisible to the observer, and then the moment of crisis was over. Decision made.

“You wish me to be a spy.”

“I intend to remain publicly neutral until the very last moment, but I do need both an ear and a voice in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. So, yes. A spy.”

Lucius looked vaguely tired.

“The Dark Lord is an accomplished Legilmens.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“And are you not a passable Occlumens, to go before him with the family secrets in your mind all these years?”

Lucius’ mouth twitched.

“Passable.” He agreed mildly.

Draco stood up and led the way to the office door, his father following.

“Good. Let’s join tea then. Aunt Bellatrix has something I have need of.”

A few minutes later, the two Malfoy males entered the tea room that overlooked the garden.

Narcissa and Bellatrix smoothly rose from their seats, and Draco led his father in bowing to the women.

Draco held his wand carefully behind his back as his mother and her sister curtsied deeply. Bringing his hand around slowly, wand still stretched out behind his leg, his left hand with the Malfoy ring stretching out for first his mother to kiss, then Bellatrix…

“Imperio!”

 

 

Draco didn’t return to Hogwarts until just after dinner, and immediately set out in search of one Harry Potter.

He found Jamie instead, lounging nonchalantly before the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

Draco noticed the small signs of nervousness starting to show as he approached.

“Draco! What are you doing here?”

Draco sidled up to her, staring her down.

“I believe that was _my_ question, actually. Is Harry inside?”

Jamie shook her head in denial.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“You’re going to have to learn to lie more effectively than that, Jamie.”

Jamie pouted.

“It works on everyone else,”

“Yes well, if everyone else is a Gryffindor it would, wouldn’t it?”

“It works on Slytherins too!” Jamie protested, outraged.

“Really? Daphne was just commenting the other day that she thinks you’re getting a bit too _close_ to the Golden Trio, ‘going native’ she called it.”

“You _told_ me I should be close to them! And you’re trying to court Harry anyway! He’s a Gryffindor!”

“Mind your volume!” Draco hissed at her, before continuing in a more normal voice. “In any case, there’s a difference between making friends with Gryffindors and turning _into_ one. When was the last time you manipulated someone for your own ends? Hmm? Are you even bothering to plan things out for your benefit or are you just letting things ‘happen’ around you? You’ve got to find some balance, Jamie.”

“Is that why you’re looking for Harry right after dinner? Because you’re so balanced?” Jamie smirked.

“Considering that I just spent the early part of the day with my mother and _father_ , I’d say so, yes. Quite balanced.” Draco said coldly.

Jamie looked shocked.

“But…isn’t your father a…a-”

“Death Eater. Murderer. Escaped convict. Yes. And yet also my father.”

“Does Harry know-” she started, and Draco cut her off.

“Harry knows perfectly well where he stands with me, and he’s the only one who needs to. Now, is he in there, or am I going to have to start torturing random Gryffindors for the password to the tower?”

Jamie stood aside from the door, sullenly.

Draco stepped inside, into the middle of a heated argument.

“I’m telling you Ron, that’s despicable! How could you even contemplate something like that? It’s almost like a bond of slavery!”

“It’s the only way I’d trust the ferret, ‘Mione, you _know_ he wouldn’t be after Harry if he didn’t have some sneaky plan ready! This is perfectly normal for marriages between people who have some reason to be suspicious of each other.”

“Ronald! That’s exactly what I’m talking about! How can two people come to really love each other as equals with a spell like this hanging around their neck? Harry, you agree with me, right? This would ruin any romance you could hope for with him!”

Ron was making retching noises at the word “romance” while Harry mumbled something unintelligible.

“What’s that, Harry?”

“I said, I thought it _was_ sort of romantic, actually.”

Ron started choking in the background at that.

“What could possibly be romantic about _death_ , Harry?” Granger retorted.

“Well, it sort of reminds me of the vows, you know, ‘till death do us part’ and all?”

“That’s a disgusting remnant of a patriarchal concept of institutionalized possessiveness!” Granger sniffed in disgust. “If there’s no option to end the marriage, it becomes an involuntary situation and you’ll both feel trapped in it.”

“But…Hermione, just imagine, I’d _die_ if he left me! We’d both _die_ if we were separated, and couldn’t survive each other’s death! Like the most profound soulmates, where we can’t survive without each other.” Harry said dreamily.

“Sounds like a particularly debilitating form of co-dependence, if you ask me.” Granger snapped. “And certainly not healthy!”

“What’s wrong with being co-dependent?” Harry asked, sounding mystified.

“With the ferret? You’ve got it bad, mate.” Ron chortled.

“Ronald! I thought you’d agreed there’d be no more name-calling. He’s gone to great lengths to make peace with your family.”

“And that’s exactly why we can’t trust him! Anyways, _he’s_ asking for the Hundred-Year-Honeymoon variant to make sure he gets plenty of sex, I don’t see why Harry shouldn’t ask for the Death Pact variant to make sure he can really trust the ferret.”

“Ronald Weasley.” Granger growled dangerously.

“Oh get off it ‘Mione, it’s not like he can hear me!” Ron snapped.

“Actually, I agree its very rude of you to continue calling me that, considering I’ve been calling you by your given name.” Draco interjected smoothly, ignoring the wands that had been quickly drawn and pointed at him.

“Draco!” Harry said in shock. “We were just…um…”

“Discussing my proposal, I heard. I have to disagree about the Death Pact, Harry. Not for Granger’s reasons, that’s a lot of nonsense. But we _will_ be responsible for bringing three Heirs into the world and raising them to their proper heritage. I assume you wouldn’t want _my parents_ raising your sons if something happened to you?” Draco pointed out, an eyebrow raised.

“Lucius…” Harry muttered.

“I just came from meeting with him.”

Ron started sputtering with outrage at that news, and Granger was physically restraining his wand arm now.

Harry didn’t seem surprised.

“You really meant it, when you said love is a family thing, didn’t you?”

He didn’t sound upset, or even resigned…more like…wistful.

Draco crossed to him and brushed a finger down his cheek.

“Always.”

“Did you tell him about us?”

“Yes, he knows I am courting you.”

“And?”

“Family is everything, Harry.”

“He wasn’t mad?”

Draco chuckled.

“You’ve met my father. What do you think?”

“He was mad.”

“He was very upset. But he’ll not interfere. I’m the Lord Malfoy now.”

“Wait a minute.” Granger interrupted. “Just because your father went to prison he has to… _obey_ you?”

Draco turned to her with a superior smirk firmly on his face.

“The Malfoy family is one of those institutionalized patriarchal hierarchies that still remain despite the advent of liberalized feminism, Granger. My father isn’t fit to lead because he cannot represent the family to the wizarding world. He will follow my lead, as long as he wishes to remain a Malfoy.”

“That’s…that’s…” Granger seemed to have a rare moment of struggling for sufficiently inflammatory terms to describe her disgust at such a system.

“Bloody lucky for Harry, is what it is, ‘Mione.” Ron cut her off.

“Precisely.” Draco agreed, stealing a quick kiss from Harry’s flushed lips. “And for me as well.”

“Ow! My virgin eyes!” Ron groaned. “Can you _please_ not do that in front of me?”

Draco opened his mouth to tease him, then decided to go for a deeper kiss as a more effective (and enjoyable) tactic.

Harry pulled back, and pinched Draco on his waist as punishment for the first stolen kiss.

“Be nice, Draco.” He scolded.

Draco scowled.

“I never said I was nice.”

“Pretend. We’re here for negotiating, remember?”

Of course. Most of the castle would assume Draco was still off engaging in nefarious plots with Lucius, it was a perfect time for pinning down the finer details of the contract.

“Fine.” Draco stepped back, eyeing Harry’s tasty-looking neck from afar.

“I don’t want to live in Malfoy Manor.” Harry started off.

 _That_ got Draco’s attention.

“But...Harry…that’s where Malfoy’s live!”

“I’m a Potter! And a Black, I guess. Not that I want to live at Gr-…Gr-…ugh, I mean, at Sirius’ house. I’d like to see if my parent’s house can be restored…and I’m not really comfortable with as huge a place as Malfoy Manor.”

Draco thought about that for a moment.

“Godrics Hollow was reportedly a very charming cottage in the country, perhaps it would do well as a habitual weekend and summer home?” he offered.

“And live at Malfoy Manor during the week?”

“Of course.”

“Your mother lives there.”

“She’s in a separate wing. And you’ll love her, besides. I thought you would want to get to know her, considering...” Draco stopped on the edge of the touchy subject of Lily Potter.

Harry frowned at him.

“No offense Draco, but your mother doesn’t seem very…motherly.”

Draco smiled.

“Malfoys do _not_ demonstrate familial love for outsiders.”

“She’s different at…home?”

“Very. She was the one who reminded me of…um…how much I liked you when we met in Madame Malkins, you know.” Draco said.

Harry’s cheeks blushed lightly.

“Still. I know you’re used to a really big place but…it sounds so empty and cold to me.”

“Harry…you said once that Hogwarts is like your real home, mate.” Ron reminded him. “Hogwarts is way bigger than Malfoy Manor.”

“Maybe.” Harry said doubtfully.

Draco thought for a moment. He knew Harry would fall in love with the Manor, but bringing him there _before_ the marriage would tip off every pureblood in the school who Harry’s mysterious suitor was.

“We _do_ have three heirs to three different legacies to produce. I think each should be born and weaned in the appropriate house. So, since Black is most urgent, with the need for a blooded Heir, and Potter has only one living generation, Malfoy would be the last. And then after all three are born and weaned, we can decide as a family where to make our chief residence.”

“A family.” Harry agreed, eyes shining. Draco resisted a sudden urge to pull the boy into his lap.

“Yes, we’ll be a family Harry. You. Me. Our children.” Draco promised.

Harry’s lip trembled, and this time Draco did cross over and wrap his arms around him.

“And you’ll have a mother, Harry. She’ll love you so much, I know it.” He whispered feverishly into Harry’s ear. “And once father gets used to the idea he’ll care for you too.”

Harry stiffened.

“Shh. Lucius is…can be…awful. I know.”

“He was there, when Volde-…uh…when He came back. And in the Ministry.” Harry shivered in his arms.

“And at Godrics Hollow, too.” Draco reminded him, tightening the hug a bit, still murmering into the shell of his ear. “And you won, every time. Lucius has always spoken of you with disdain, because a Malfoy should never admit to intimidation. Things are different now.”

“Draco,”

“I’ll take care of you, Harry. I can’t change fate, and I’m no Gryffindor hero, but I’m good at plotting and manipulating and pulling strings, and I’ll do that for you, Harry. You’ll see. All that I do will be for you, so we can be together.”

Harry turned in his arms to meet him with deep green eyes.

“I trust you, Draco. Don’t hurt me?”

Draco ignored the savage “If you do, I’ll break every bone in your body” from Ron.

He leaned forward, maintaining eye contact, and sealed the promise with a small kiss.

“Never.”


	21. The House of Bad Faith

Draco felt the blood drain from his face as the page was revealed.

Lord Voldemort was…very, very powerful. And paranoid on top of it. The number and complexity of the protection and countering charms and various other assorted magical preparations outstripped even Dumbledore’s.

Of course, Draco reminded himself, this scroll was created before the Dark Lord had met the infant Harry Potter. He clearly hadn’t had nearly as much time to prepare so many defenses since his rebirth only a few years ago.

But the level of simple magical strength was likewise staggering. And this with a magical inheritance only from his mother. Harry, with his Potter father, his Mudblood mother, and the Dark Lord as a third magical benefactor, would far outstrip even this glowing assessment.

If he lived to see his 17th and 18th birthdays. Or to be more precise, both of his 17th birthdays.

If Harry continued his current pattern, he’d be facing the Dark Lord much sooner than that. And the Dark Lord certainly would want him disposed of before he came into his powers, even if he didn’t realize the boy was his magical heir.

Draco looked down at the maze of layered protections.

Harry Potter, powerful as he was, would fall before this wizard. Fall, and bring Draco down with him, since Draco had allowed himself to become so attached.

There was no escaping it. 

Battle against the Dark Lord would fail.

Draco tapped another icon with his wand, and observed depicted below him the Dark Lord’s greatest fear and greatest wish.

Thomas Marvelo Riddle, an aging but nonetheless handsome wizard, stood on a pedestal with his advisors clustered around him. Draco noticed Lucius at his right hand. The members of the Wizengamut, and a throng of people stood below the pedestal listening eagerly to whatever he was saying.

So. The Dark Lord truly did dream of a brighter future for the wizarding world, and not one based on endless torture and pain. He wished for respect.

And the greatest fear…well…the etching on the pitiful grave marker was barely legible, but Draco was fairly certain it bore the Dark Lord’s name. The Dark Lord feared death. Which would have to be true, considering the ludicruous number of Horcruxes he’d created.

These, Draco could bargain with.

It was time Gryffindor battles that couldn’t be won gave way to Slytherin scheming and diplomacy.

Draco closed the scroll and ascended the stairs to his office.

His father was waiting for him outside the office door.

“Well?”

“You were right. The Dark Lord is powerful. Very powerful. I’d like an update to which of his protections he’s managed to rebuild since his rebirth.”

“You intend to still oppose him?” Lucius asked, incredulous.

“I intend to negotiate with him.”

“The Dark Lord does not negotiate.” Lucius said darkly.

Draco smiled at the elder Malfoy.

“He will, when there is no other way to get what he wants.”

He snatched a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

“Island Sanctuary”

He gestured his father into the fire ahead of himself.

“He will not be pleased to be intruded on.”

“I expect he’ll nevertheless want to hear what I have to say.” Draco replied.

 

The Floo took them directly to the Entrance Hall of the Malfoy bolthole. Not _quite_ as breathtaking as the Atrium of Malfoy Manor, but then, it was only intended for a few generations of Malfoys to live in comfort for a time, and was _not_ the ancestral home.

Still. The place had been part of the Malfoy holdings for centuries, and as one of the family “secret places” it held a certain special force of generational magic. Severely depleted, for future generations, due to this unprecedented alien occupancy, Draco thought sourly.

Still. Harry Potter’s equally unprecedented contribution to their bloodline would make up for his father’s horrendous decision on this matter, hopefully.

“Luuciusss. I hope you have a very good excusse for entering unannounced and unssssummoned.” Voldemort hissed at them from the throne set on the dais between two staircases. Draco stiffened in outrage as he noticed that the family coat of arms had been covered up by a banner depicting the Dark Mark, behind him.

Draco observed, disgusted, as his father quickly fell to his knees.

“My Lord. I bring you my son, who is now Lord of Malfoy, and desires humbly to treat with you on behalf of the family.” Lucius said.

The Dark Lord’s eye fell lazily on Draco.

“Isss thisss ssso?”

Draco nodded solemnly, every line of his body arranged to express a dignified respect, bordering on awe.

Voldemort regarded him with interest.

“You do not bow, young Draco?”

“No, Lord Voldemort. It is improper for the Lord of Malfoy to bow before the honored guest in his home, except during ritual exchanges of gifts.” Draco said, taking a few steps forward.

“Isssn’t it? Foolishh boy, thisssss place belongsss to me, now!”

Draco nodded minutely.

“This is a Malfoy family bolthole, and tied by blood to each of us going back generations upon generations. It is magically impossible to sell or give it away. My father gifted you with the full measure that he had ownership of – control of the property during his Lordship.”

Voldemort cackled in amusement.

“Sssooo. It is now _you_ that is Lord Malfoy, and it is now yours. Tell me young Lord Malfoy, are you here to claim what is yourrss?”

“It needs no claiming. What is Malfoy, is Malfoy. If I did not respect your continued use of this place while you have need of it, the grounds would have expelled what they viewed an invader from the premises.”

Voldemort eyed him skeptically.

“Do you dare ssuggessst that your mere warrdsss could repel _me_ from the thhhrone I have claimed?” he asked dangerously.

Draco simply nodded.

“Undoubtedly. These are generational magics, my Lord. The core of every Malfoy buried in our cemeteries is joined together as the power of the Malfoy blood magic. No wizard, not even Merlin, could stand against the Malfoy magic while standing on Malfoy land.”

Voldemort glared at Lucius.

“Isss this true, Luciusss?”

“Yes my Lord, it is true. Generational magic is cumulative, and as different from an individual wizard’s power as we are from squibs.” Lucius groveled.

“How vvvery interesssting that none of you hasss chossseen to enlighten me of thissss, Luccciussss.” The Dark Lord said.

“My Lord, your knowledge in other branches of magic is unmatched, I had not known any instruction was necessary.”

“Impertinent! Crucio!”

Draco watched passively, keeping his face a smooth relaxed mask, as his father screamed behind him.

“Now, young Lord Malfoy. Ssssince you do not ssseee fit to asssk my absssence from your family land, do you then intend to make a similar giffft?”

Draco frowned.

“Not exactly the same. But I will not oppose your use of the Island Sanctuary while you have need of it, provided your servants treat the building and grounds with the respect they are worthy of. And that any family heirlooms remain unmolested.”

“Of courrssse. But tell me, young Lord Malfoy, why you do not offer a life-long gift asss your fathhher?”

“It seems quite unnecessary. I see no reason to make a gift of what is only needed for a few years at most.”

“A few yearssss, you ssssay?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Well yes. If I recall the lessons I learned at father’s knee, you were verily on the verge of seizing control of the wizarding world before the unfortunate oversight with Potter. Now that you’ve returned, and recruited a similar force of Death Eaters, there is only Dumbledore to deal with and those fools in the Ministry should fall into line relatively swiftly.” Draco summarized smoothly.

“You forget the matter of Harry Potter, boy.” Voldemort said.

“ _Potter_? The boy-who-lived? He’s just a symbol. I’ve dueled him, he’s no threat to one such as you.” Draco sneered.

“But he _issss_ a ssssymbol, young Lord Malfoy. Ssssymbols cannot be ssssimply ignored! Essspecially one that, to the average fool, ssseeems to offer hope of my defeat!”

Draco made a dismissive gesture.

“I’ve watched Harry Potter for six years. It is Dumbledore that has propped him up as a symbol. Against his wishes, my Lord. Harry Potter wants nothing of his status or his fame.”

“But he hassss them anywayssss, young Lord Malfoy! Why do you ssseeek to dissstract me from thisss necesssssary disssposal?”

Draco gave a small smile as he prepared to unleash the shocking news.

“Because, my Lord. I see no indication that you intend to spawn another heir, and a heritage as powerful as yours calls for reinvestiture into the other pureblooded lines.”

“An _heir_?” the Dark Lord looked, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted.

“My Lord?” Draco asked politely.

“ _Another_ heir? What givessss you thisss foolishhh notion the Potter boy is _my_ heir?”

“He’s a Parcelmouth, my Lord. Neither James Potter nor Lily Evans had this gift, and it is _only_ hereditary. And you are the only other known Parcelmouth living. The Killing Curse involves a close wending of souls, which normally terminates upon the death of the recipient.” Draco told him.

Voldemort was no longer bored, but leaning forward on his throne now, very interested.

“Go on, young Lord Malffffoy.”

“Potter did not die from the Curse, due to some ancient protection I don’t understand, and neither did you, because you are powerful enough to be immortal. As a result, your souls remain connected – you will have passed all your magical inheritances on to him as your heir, through his soul, as most of us receive this through our blood. Potter _is_ your Dark Heir, my Lord.”

“Luciusssss! Ssspeak! What isss this theory your sssspawn tellssss me?”

Lucius raised his head to speak from his position prone on the marble floor.

“I suspect he is correct, my Lord. I had not considered the hereditary nature of Parceltongue in conjunction with the unique situation with the Killing Curse. He can only be your Heir, my Lord.”

“Thisss is something you shhhould have been alert for, Luciussss! I keep you at my sssside to take note of detailssss I have no time to ponder! Crucio!”

“Lord Voldemort, if I may interject.”

Voldemort raised a finger approvingly.

“Potter has both his blood-father’s Gryffindor heritage, and his soul-father’s Slytherin heritage battling inside him. The first has been encouraged and wheedled out of him by Dumbledore, yet he retains a strong inner darkness despite all attempts to stifle it. You will recall that he was seduced by the desire to torture my mother’s sister, Bellatrix, with the Cruciatus curse.”

“He wasss unable to usssee it!” Voldemort reminded him.

Draco smirked.

“Well. He may be heir to your dread powers, but I’m sure he has never been taught how to use the Unforgivables. And he’s had his head filled constantly with gaudy red and gold and endless small furry animals by his Gryffindor friends and that old fool these last six years! That he attempted it despite this is evidence of the will and intention to do so, at least.”

Voldemort smiled sickeningly.

“You would have me claim him assss my heir, young Lord Malfoy. Train him up as a Dark Prince?”

“My Lord, he is still seeped in hostility towards you as taught him by that old fool.”

“Thhhen why do you appeal to my vanity, by naming him my heir? If he cannot be turned?”

“I will turn him.” Draco said.

Voldemort laughed.

“You? I hear tales of your rivalry in Hogwarts even here! You are no confidant to Harry Potter!”

Draco smirked.

“A rival can manipulate more thoroughly than the closest friend, my Lord. If Bellatrix could stimulate Potter to an attempt at Cruciatus through badly-timed laughter, I will have him on a rampage of Unforgivables!”

“Have you a death-wishhh, young Malfoy? Even your generational magic cannot stop a Killing Curse if Potter strikes at you.”

Draco grinned slyly.

“My Lord. I will trust to my Slytherin instincts to know the moment he will strike before he does, and misdirect appropriately. Potter will alienate himself from the Light, and leave himself no recourse in his remorse, but to submit further to my…tutelage.”

“And what is your stake, young Lord Malfoy?” Voldemort demanded. “Do you wish to join my Death Eaters, only to become subservient to my heir, who despises you?”

“Oh no, my Lord. One Malfoy shall be ample proof of our support. I myself would ask a more intimate appointment.”

The Dark Lord frowned.

“This body has long cleansed itself of such lusts, young Lord.”

Draco laughed.

“Indeed, and evolved with power beyond a point where such intercourse is possible or desireable, my Lord. But such is not the case for your budding heir. I would have the Malfoy line be the first to benefit from the fruits of your heritage, my Lord. And so I would become your son-in-law, by the bindings of magic.”

Voldemort looked at him suspiciously.

“You have already set this in motion, or you would not come to me as if it were certain.”

Draco nodded slowly, his head almost bowing in the motion.

“Yes, my Lord. I recognized his status as your hidden heir several months ago, and quickly initiated Heirloom, Magic, Blood. We have negotiated the terms of a contract, and it remains to seek your permission for the final gift. The Blood gift.”

“What are these gifts, young Malfoy?”

“They are customary when courting the son of royalty, Lord. His Heirloom gift was the Crystal Sceptre, a weapon of the Malfoys of old.”

Voldemort hissed.

“Your grandfather, Abraxas, used the very same to suck the life and magic from a captured Light Wizard, this heirloom is known to me! And you have gifted this Dark artifact to Potter?”

“Yes. He has yet to understand its potential use, of course. And his Magic gift was a powerful Dark talisman soaked in my own blood, which will grant him some measure of protection from hexes.”

“And he wears this talisman? Willingly?”

“Oh yes.” Draco said smugly. “Potter is more affected by the loss of his parents than he has made public. He longs desperately for a family, and this is what I have offered him. The protection of a strong wizard, not the powerful father-figure you may one day represent to him, in the more distant future, but it is a symbol of what might be. He cares little for its Darkness.”

“You have successfully seduced him, then.” Voldemort gloated.

“Oh yes. Barring full intercourse, of course.” Draco added hastily.

“Hassss he then revealed to you, the prophecccy concerning the both of ussss?”

Draco nodded. This was unavoidable. Still. The Dark Lord must be misled on one point.

“Tell it to usssss, young Master Malfoy.”

Draco took a deep breath, preparing the careful lie.

“The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as an equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not. And either of them must die by the hand of the other, for Darkness shall reign while both of them survive.”

Slow, hissing laughter could be heard from the throne.

“My Lord?”

“Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Dumbledore! Theee old foool hasss ssssstruck us with his chessssss obsssessssion yet again. And taken our ally to make one of us the insssstrument of the other’sssss fall! Clever old Dumbledore! And none of my Death Eater’sssss thought to consssssider the boy my heir! Crucio!”

Lucius screamed on the floor behind Draco once again.

“We accept your plan, young Lord Malfoy. But tell us, what is your plan for the Blood gift?”

“My Lord. The Blood gift is traditionally a powerful enemy of the family whose son is being courted.”

The Dark Lord let out another hissing laugh.

“I sssseeeee. And do I have the choice of this enemy?”

“No my Lord. It is my responsibility alone to select a fitting gifts and present them to my future spouse.”

“I ssseee.” Voldemort sounded displeased.

“This is the ritual. However, the family should be present for the presenting of the final gift, my Lord.” Draco offered. “As well as the bonding itself, which takes place at the same time.”

A nasty smile applied itself once again to the Dark Lord’s face.

“Very well then. We shall be in contact regarding…wedding plans.”

“Indeed my Lord.”

 

 

Draco arrived back at the Manor to find a very vicious looking Heron with a letter clamped tightly in its beak. Draco removed the item and summoned some fish from a house elf to feed the creature as he read the missive.

So. Someone had embarked on the same project before him. If the initials meant what he believed, quite a while before him. And the attempt had ended badly, as well.

In that case, there was only place to look. Which meant, finagling an invitation.

Well. There was an easy way to arrange that.

Draco sent the Heron away and went to his desk to write a quick note.

_Dear Rita: I have some news that you might find of interest……._


	22. Groundwork

The article was a bit… _more_ than what Draco had been hoping for. And not in a good way. He frowned down at the offending headline and let himself read it carefully, word by word.

 

_Mysterious Suitor Courts the Boy-Who-Lived:  
A Rita Skeeter exclusive._

_It seems only yesterday that Harry Potter emerged from ten years in hiding to attend Hogwarts. Where he lived and what he did during that time remains a mystery, as do the contents of his summers every year._

_Indeed, clever readers will notice that despite the faithful reporting of your friends at the Daily Prophet, young Harry Potter is in fact a highly secretive young man – and the truth is that there is still quite a bit we do not know about him._

_Why was Harry Potter in the Department of Mysteries, a very high-security and top-secret Ministry facility, the night Voldemort made his reappearance? What really happened when Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory disappeared from the Maze during the Triwizard Tournament that fateful night? What was his involvement with the famous mass-murderer and Death Eater Sirius Black? What happened in the Chamber of Secrets, and what really became of the Philosopher’s Stone after Harry Potter stole it right out from under You-Know-Who’s nose?_

_Inquiring readers would like to know, and so would this reporter. But this reporter would also like to know something else. Who is it that this secretive and powerful wizard has recently become romantically involved with?_

_Yes, my faithful readers, you have read correctly. The Boy-Who-Lived has been observed in public to receive an object borne by two swans – the traditional first gift of the Heirloom, Magic, Blood cycle. If the standard time-table for this ritual is being followed, this already-powerful wizard, who battled a dragon in his Fourth Year, has received a substantial magical gift as well, and has likely engaged in some pre-intercourse sexual play with the lucky wizard or witch who has been successfully persuing him._

_Successfully, yes indeed. All those hopeful wizards and witches except one will be very sad to hear that the magical monitoring of Hogwarts noted a marriage contract being entered into last weekend. While the names of the parties are sealed, on closer investigation this reporter was able to learn that the traces of the distinctively powerful magical signature of Harry Potter are detectable on the sealed scroll._

_But who is this other person? Harry Potter has not said a word to reveal his or her identity, and in fact appears to have kept the fact of his impending marriage a complete secret from the wizarding world at large!_

_Harry Potter, as a public figure of some importance, should step up and identify whoever it is that is claiming such an influential role in his life. As the Chosen One, and the Boy Who Lived, the question of whom Harry Potter will marry is one that has grave repercussions for the rest of the wizarding world._

_We at the Prophet most strongly urge Albus Dumbledore and Minister Scrimgeour to give this matter the careful scrutiny it deserves, and ensure that the Boy Who Lived does not succumb to the charms of some unscrupulous or unworthy would-be suitor._

The tone was friendly and complimentary at every turn, but the odd turn of phrase here and there…seemed to be just holding back from a more hostile viewpoint on just about every topic. Draco winced at the mention of the Philosopher’s Stone, Rita was basically implying that Harry Potter had kept it for his own use, when everyone knew Dumbledore had destroyed the thing.

And the suggestions directed towards _himself_ …well, Rita didn’t know it was him she was talking about, of course. But he still bristled at the ludicrous implication that he might be _unworthy_. Unscrupulous, well that was a given, of course. But the Lord of Malfoy was certainly the most worthy suitor wizarding Britain could hope to offer. 

And it certainly wouldn’t do to have the Minister of Magic poking his wand in where it didn’t belong. That would not do at all.

Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table, a twinge of regret sliding through him as he saw Harry’s hunted expression as he read the article. Harry hated the attention of the Wizarding World on him, especially on his personal life, and now he had it in droves. And Draco had done that to him.

For both their own good, right?

In the long term, for both their good. But now, Harry’s eyes were visibly glimmering with frustrated tears, and Draco could feel the slight static charge in the air as some of that frustrated anger was converted to magic.

Then another owl flew in, divebombing the Gryffindor table, a bright red envelope clutched in its talon.

Harry took the missive with a trembling hand, and cracked the seal.

The amplified voice of Molly Weasley crashed through the Great Hall.

HARRY JAMES POTTER! HOW DARE YOU KEEP THIS FROM YOUR FAMILY! HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON UNDER OUR NOSES WITHOUT YOU SAYING A WORD TO THOSE WHO CARE ABOUT YOU? I’VE JUST SPOKEN TO REMUS AND HE’S DEVASTATED YOU DIDN’T CONFIDE IN HIM! SHAME ON YOU! YOU KNOW HE SEE’S YOU AS HIS CUB AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT HIM?

I WON’T HAVE ANY MORE OF THIS SECRECY FROM YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU WILL BRING THIS SUITOR OF YOURS FOR DINNER AND INTRODUCE THEM TO YOUR FAMILY PROPERLY, AS YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE AFTER RECEIVING AN HEIRLOOM FROM THEM!

OH, AND YOU RONALD BILIOUS WEASLEY, ARE NOT OFF THE HOOK! I KNOW YOU’VE GOT TO BE UP TO YOUR UNWASHED LITTLE EARS IN ALL THIS AS WELL! YOU’LL BE HEARING FROM ME WHEN YOU GET HOME IN A FEW WEEKS! HARRY MAY NOT HAVE THE UPBRINGING TO KNOW BETTER BUT YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE! I’LL BE WRINGING BOTH YOUR NECKS AS SOON AS I CAN GET MY HANDS ON YOU!

It’s anger purged, the Howler continued on blythly in a more conversational tone, which was nevertheless amplified to epic proportions by the same spell, making Molly Weasley sound like a terrifyingly cordial monster talking to its prey before devouring it alive.

NOW, RONALD, I’M SURE YOU’LL BE VERY HAPPY TO HEAR THAT YOUR UNCLE RON WILL BE VISITING FOR CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR. HE’S LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN, AS YOU’RE HIS NAMESAKE, AFTER ALL. I’VE PULLED OUT ALL THE OLD PICTURES OF YOU IN YOUR CUTE LITTLE FANNY FLUBBERWORM BLANKIE THAT HE GAVE YOU AT YOUR FIRST BIRTHDAY, 

Ronald Weasley’s face was a picture of horror, which only grew as his mother’s voice continued…

AS WELL AS A FEW PRECIOUS MOMENTS OF YOU GROWING UP, LIKE THAT TIME YOU GOT YOUR FIRST PRACTICE BROOM AND GOT YOURSELF TRAPPED ON THE CEILING AND WE WERE ALL LAUGHING TOO HARD TO GET YOU DOWN WHILE YOU HOWLED DOWN AT US, BLESS YOUR LITTLE HEART! 

Harry seemed to have forgotten his own problems for a moment, and he and Hermoine…and the rest of the students in the Great Hall…were now staring at Ron with quite a bit of interest as the message went on…

I WANT US ALL TO MAKE HIM FEEL LIKE HE WAS ALMOST THERE WHILE YOU WERE GROWING UP, DESPITE THAT UNFORTUNATE BONDING RITUAL ACCIDENT THAT LEFT HIM MATED TO YOUR PET FUZZYWUGGUM WHEN YOU WERE FIVE. I’M SURE I DON’T HAVE TO REMIND YOU TO BE VERY NICE TO HIM AS HE’S STILL RECOVERING FROM POOR ‘FOO-FOO’ FINALLY DYING OF OLD AGE LAST YEAR. 

Ron was beet red at this point, and several of the Gryffindors were now poking each other and giggling over both having a pet Fuzzywuggum at the age of five, _and_ naming it, or anything, “Foo-Foo”, and finally, having an uncle accidentally find himself mated to it.

HOWEVER, I’M SURE I _DO_ HAVE TO REMIND YOU THAT YOU HAD BETTER BE WASHING BEHIND YOUR EARS AND YOUR ARMPITS AS WELL, EVERY NIGHT, RONALD WEASLEY! 

Now there were just shrugs of commiseration from the Gryffindors, calm agreement from the Ravenclaws, blushes from the Hufflepuffs, and from the Slytherins…well…it was pretty pathetic to have to be reminded of something as basic and necessary to civilization as personal _hygiene_ , wasn’t it? _Gryffindors!_

AND BE SURE TO WASH IN THE MORNINGS AS WELL, NOW THAT YOU’RE OLD ENOUGH TO BE HAVING NOCTURNAL EMISSIONS. IT’S UNHEALTHY TO HAVE THAT STUCK TO YOUR SKIN ALL DAY, DEAR. 

All the giggling died away entirely with that, and there were a _lot_ of red faces, all avoiding eye contact with anyone else, and a very _very_ uncomfortable silence. 

Mothers should simply not know about, and most _definitely_ should not actually _verbally refer to_ “nocturnal emissions”.

Particularly to their own son. 

Particularly in front of anyone. 

Especially other people their age. 

Especially girls.

AND WHILE WE’RE ON THAT SUBJECT, I’VE TOLD YOU A HUNDRED TIMES I CAN SENSE A SILENCING SPELL ANYWHERE IN THE HOUSE, HAVEN’T I? 

Ron Weasley buried his face in his arms, completely mortified at this point.

ANYWAYS, THOSE SPELLS DON’T ACTUALLY WORK IN THE BURROW! IF YOU CAN’T LEARN TO BE QUIET THEN YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO- OH DEAR, IT SEEMS THIS THING IS NEARLY OUT OF SPACE.

Ron and the rest of the room heaved a collective sigh of relief.

VERY WELL, GIVE MY LOVE TO GINNY AND HERMIONE, AND MAKE SURE HARRY IS USING THE PROPER PROTECTIVE SPELLS WHEN HE’S WITH HIS SPECIAL SOMEONE, UNDERSTAND? I’D HATE FOR SOMETHING WONDERFUL TO BE RUINED BY A MOMENT OF YOUTHFUL LUSTS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL! NOW I DON’T KNOW IF HARRY HAS BEEN SEEING A BOY OR A GIRL, BUT THERE’S DANGERS IN BOTH AND SINCE I’VE HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO GIVE YOU THE BIRDS AND BEES TALK BUT NOT HARRY, I’M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO TRUST YOU TO EXPLAIN THINGS TO HIM, SO HE DOESN’T GET A GIRL PREGNANT, OR GET HIMSELF PREGNANT, OR VOID HIS VIRGINITY BY ENGAGING IN PENETRATIVE-

And here, the ludicrously lengthy Howler finally, _mercifully_ , cut itself off with a quick “beep” to indicate the available message length had been exceeded, and vanished with a theatrical little pop.

Draco, recovering quickly from the pure horror of Molly Weasley speculating out loud and in public about he and Harry’s sexual acts, looked up just in time to see the Golden Trio rushing out the doors of the Great Hall.

Draco scooted his chair out, standing swiftly to follow.

His Slytherins looked at him curiously.

“If you will all excuse me, this is far too good an opportunity to pass up.” He drawled, and made his way quickly to the doors.

 

Draco caught up in time to hear Harry and Granger pleading with Ron that suicide really _wasn’t_ the best way to deal with humiliation, and Draco had to quite agree. But first, he’d get what he came for.

“Accio Harry Potter”

Harry came flying backwards and landed on Draco, knocking them both back into the alcove he’d placed himself in front of. Draco immediately buried his nose into Harry’s neck and took a deep whiff of that delicious “aftershave” potion he’d become addicted to lately.

 _Then_ he offered his knuts-worth.

“Actually, personal revenge is a much more appropriate way of dealing with these things, Ron.”

Harry had been squirming in panic, but now relaxed, recognizing his voice.

“Draco? You scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” Draco growled into his neck, and took a swipe at it with his tongue.

Harry gave a little growl of his own in return, and twisted around to face him, pushing Draco’s back against the wall as he straddled him, chest to chest.

Draco felt himself suddenly rock hard under his robes, and tried vainly to buck up to press it against Harry’s heat above him.

“Can you two _boys_ keep your hands off each other long enough to help me keep Ron from killing himself?” Granger cut in, her voice scornful.

Harry flushed guiltily and turned towards her.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Draco glared at the interfering girl.

“Granger, if you’d thought before you’d spoken, you’d notice that Harry and myself were both _maligned_ as well, and that our current behavior is an excellent way of getting over the embarrassment…and perhaps learn from our example!”

Harry looked hopefully up at that.

“How can you even think of _that_ after…after… _that_?!” Ron burst out “I can’t believe she said all that! I’m never going to…er… _you know_ every again!”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Draco said dryly. “Considering Granger seems to be quite the prude.”

Then he licked Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s eyes suddenly caught him, swallowing him in their intensity as the magic responded to Harry’s sudden lust, burning him and making him forget everything but wondering…was Harry as hard as he was? Was his beautiful manhood rising under those robes, up and down with every beat of his pulse, pointed at Draco, hot and hard and _wanting_ with only a few layers of cloth between it and Draco’s feverish flesh…Draco reached out a hand, practically feeling the white-hotness of that turgid flesh burning his hand as it approached where he knew it had to be-”

Draco was suddenly drenched with freezing cold water, suddenly dampening the dangerous cycle of sex-magic they’d been caught up in.

They both looked up to see a smug Granger putting away her wand.

“Now, if you two are quite done pawing at each other, please do find a room, and use the appropriate spells beforehand? Ronald’s mother would never forgive him if the two of you had penetrative intercourse while Ron was busy with me.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open in horror at the mention of penetrative intercourse in the same sentence as his mother. Then dropped open again as the second half of that sentence struck him.

“Mione…you don’t mean…” he said, gaping at her.

“Yes Ronald, I think it’s about time I let you get to second base, at least. Draco is quite right, the best way to respond to this sort of humiliation is revenge, and I’m quite sure your mother would never approve.” Granger said briskly.

Ron just stared.

Draco also stared, with newfound respect.

The most dreadful revenge Ron could possibly wreak on his mother would be, simply, growing up before she was quite ready for it.

Of course, the other half would be letting her know it. 

But that would be easy to do, by engineering a “menses” crisis – Draco was sure Granger was a good enough actor to convince Molly Weasley the girl believed she might be pregnant, which would make it very clear that Ron had given her some reason to reach that conclusion, of course. Not enough to actually void Virginity, but sufficient to make it a possibility…

All of this, he saw in the crafty glint of the Mudblood’s eyes as she briskly ushered Ron towards the Prefects bath.

“How did Granger _not_ end up in Slytherin?” he asked Harry, wonderingly.

“Same way I didn’t, I guess. Didn’t get along with the people there.” Harry said.

Draco frowned at that reminder. Why had he had to be such a prat at that age? Things would be so much simpler now…

“Let’s go get dried off.” he suggested.

Harry willingly relinquished his dominating position over Draco and gave him a hand up from the floor.

“We need to talk.” Harry said seriously.

“What about?”

“Not here.”

Harry led the way to a deserted classroom and locked them in with an assortment of anti-eavesdropping charms that made Draco raise his eyebrows.

“Expecting someone?”

“Dumbledore likes to know everything in the castle.” Harry said, casting obscuring charms on each wall, then the ceiling, then causing the floor to become an insubstantial blur beneath their feet.

Draco was getting nervous now. This was clearly something that Harry wanted _nobody_ but him to know. That he was going to such lengths to keep _Dumbledore_ out of it made it a serious matter indeed.

Finally Harry seemed satisfied with his efforts, and turned to Draco. His eyes looked troubled and…afraid.

“Draco. I have to tell you something.”

Draco tried to take his hand in his, but Harry crossed his arms defensively in front of himself, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes.

“Sometimes, I have dreams. True dreams.”

Draco nodded. So Harry could add Sight to his list of talents. It wasn’t a typical Slytherin or Gryffindor trait, which meant Lily Potter must have had some new strain.

But Harry went on.

“Sometimes I dream things, and then they happen. But most of the time, when I have a dream, it’s of something that is happening right then. When Vol-, sorry, when You-Know-Who is very angry, or very pleased about something, if I’m asleep, I see through his eyes.”

Draco sucked in his breath.

Harry continued talking, not meeting his eyes.

“Sometimes…most of the time…I see really horrible things. Torture and murder. But sometimes…I overhear conversations…Draco…I-”

Harry still was looking to the side, over Draco’s shoulder. The beautiful green eyes staring at the wall behind him as if to forget he was there.

Draco was suddenly seized with panic, pure fear that Harry had discovered his scheming and was now ending it, ending everything here and now. He seized Harry’s chin in his fingers and turned his face towards him.

“And you saw me meet with the Dark Lord last night. How much did you hear, Harry?” he asked, trembling.

Harry was looking at him now, and Draco felt the pain and distrust in them stabbing into him more painfully than he’d ever imagined.

“I…I think… _you_ should tell me, what I overheard, Draco.” He said sadly.

A test.

Draco would have to be sure to reveal all of what Harry already knew…but to reveal too much would also ruin his plans for the powerful Gryffindor.

Draco’s mind raced frantically back to that night. Harry entered the Dark Lord’s mind when he was angry or very pleased. He was only annoyed, not truly angered, when Lucius had barged in. And he’d seemed bored even when Draco had asserted control over the Malfoy lands…

He’d first seemed interested on Draco’s reference to Harry as his heir, but did that count as being truly “pleased”? Draco didn’t think so. He’d been somewhat angry that Lucius and the others hadn’t noticed that fact, but not one of the towering rages Draco had heard whispers about.

After that, the Dark Lord had rather gradually warmed to the plan Draco suggested…but at what point did this mean he was pleased enough to open the door to the sleeping Harry?

Was it when Draco offered to turn Harry to the Dark? When he said he’d make Harry use an Unforgivable on him? 

No, no. The Dark Lord had still been skeptical.

His first indication of approval had been when Draco had detailed the gifts. The mention of the Crystal Sceptre had caused the Dark Lord’s red eyes to brighten with malevolent glee, and Harry’s willing acceptance of a powerful Dark Talisman…yes, Harry could have heard that.

But perhaps it was not until Draco had told him the prophecy? But if Harry had heard the altered prophecy, he wouldn’t be looking at Draco with wounded betrayal in his eyes…so it was either after the prophecy, or just before it.

Draco took a deep breath. He would say as much as possible to be recognized as truth, but as little as possible to inform.

“The Dark Lord demanded details about our courtship. I had kept this a careful secret from him before, so I had to make it seem I was still working on his behalf all along. I told him of your heritage, and that I thought you could be a powerful ally for him if I convinced you to become Dark.” He told him.

Harry’s eyes glinted at him.

“And are you trying to turn me Dark?”

Draco squirmed uncomfortably.

“I wouldn’t mind. If you weren’t…insane, like him. You could be a little bit Darker.”

Harry looked at him silently.

“Draco. _Are_ you trying to turn me Dark? Are you manipulating me?”

Draco forced himself to meet the powerful green eyes.

“Maybe a bit.” He admitted, then grasped Harry’s arm desperately as he started to turn away, “Not like I let the Dark Lord think! Just…Harry, I want you to _win_ but you always fall into the Dark Lord’s traps! You’re too Gryffindor and I _know_ you have a Slytherin side!”

Harry stiffened.

“What makes you think that? Am I not Gryffindor enough to convince you?”

Draco hesitantly smoothed the fabric of Harry’s sleeve, wishing he dared caress his face at this point.

“You speak to snakes, Harry. You have the gifts of both lines. When _he_ is gone, you’ll be Heir to both as well.”

Harry turned away from him, his shoulders slumped.

“The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.” He revealed quietly.

Draco wasn’t surprised.

“You are Slytherin, Harry. As much as Gryffindor.”

Harry shuddered, and Draco hesitantly put a hand on the small of his back. Harry didn’t pull away, at least.

“Are we so bad? Am I that bad?”

“Someone told me once, that there isn’t any wizard that went bad, that didn’t come from Slytherin.”

“Ambitious, powerful people are Sorted there.” Draco nodded. “The bad ones from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are just as bad, but they don’t make a name for themselves, they just are.”

Harry shuddered again, leaning back into Draco’s comforting hand. Draco moved forward, pressing the side of his face to Harry’s upper back.

“Draco, ever since I learned about magic, and Voldemort, and that I’m destined to be…powerful, I’ve been terrified of one thing, and it wasn’t Voldemort.” Harry said shakily. Draco took the chance and didn’t rebuke his use of the Dark Lord’s name in a place of power. There was ample protection for this conversation, at least.

“Tell me, Harry.”

Harry talked like he was in a trance, his voice wavering,

“I can feel it inside me, Draco. That piece of _him_ that he gave me. His power. This connection to him. When I’m in his head, sometimes it’s _me_ casting Unforgivables, torturing people, and when that happens it’s like I’m _him_ , and I’m _enjoying_ it! And then I wake up, and I’m sick, and I don’t want to tell anyone about the dream because I’m so _ashamed_ that dreaming of torturing someone made me…made me…made me…”

And Harry was suddenly sobbing, and Draco was holding him in his arms, soothing his tears with a frantic tenderness that escalated with the painful sight of every salty little drop.

And, he realized, he was himself shaking with agony at seeing Harry’s pain. It didn’t bother him that Harry grew hard at torture. No doubt, Voldemort’s alien pleasure was transmuted over the link to a form Harry’s mind and body could interpret.

Not that that complex explanation would soothe Harry’s fears. Fears reinforced over how many years of Dark-themed wet-dreams from the Dark Lord!

No. But Draco was a Slytherin, his arsenal not limited to the _pure_ truth.

“Harry. Cruciatis _always_ gives the caster extreme pleasure. Why do you think it’s so popular? Powerful spells require balance. You split your soul to kill another’s. You extend your will to imprison another’s. You fill your mind and body with incomprehensible bliss to cause incomprehensible pain to another’s. If you felt what the Dark Lord felt, of _course_ you came in your sleep!” 

Harry looked at him, a timid hope shining in his eyes.

“Really?”

Draco just nodded.

“That’s not in any of the books…”

Draco smirked.

“Do you _really_ think the Ministry or the Board would want a bunch of horny teenagers to know that they could have the most amazing orgasms of their lives, if they could lower their scruples enough to torture a few of the more intelligent animals? And that that feeling would be intensified a hundred-fold by using, say, one of the younger students?”

Harry blinked at him, horrified.

“What? Tempted?”

Harry shook his head in denial.

Draco smiled at him reassuringly.

“I don’t think you need to be worried about becoming another Dark Lord, Harry. Even if you _were_ tempted. I was taught the Unforgivables at my father’s knee, and I’ll tell you that _that_ one _is_ a temptation to use again. But one that can be resisted.

Harry suddenly hugged him hard enough to cut off his breath.

“I don’t want to be Dark.”

“I don’t want you to be dead.” Draco countered. “Do you think we can compromise?”

Harry looked at him.

“I don’t think I can be like you. I’ve watched you, you know. As much as you’ve watched me. You play games. With people. Use them, like Ron does chess pieces.”

“Yes. If you’d been Sorted properly, you’d know how to do that too.”

“I don’t want to know how.” Harry objected.

“I know. They’ve ruined you up in that tower.”

Harry opened his mouth to object again but Draco silenced him with a finger on his lips.

“We’ll have a lifetime for you to learn how to be a better Slytherin. For now, I’ll be the Slytherin for both of us. Because you _do_ need a Slytherin, Harry. You’re too…too… _good_ to win without one.”

“I don’t think-”

Draco shushed him again.

“ _I’ll_ lay the traps that need to be laid, and _I’ll_ pull the strings that must be pulled, and _I’ll_ tell the lies that need to be told, blackmail, betray, mislead, and double-deal. I’ll make sure you live to strike down the Dark Lord like the idiot Gryffindor warrior you are.”

“Draco, you shouldn’t be doing any of that-”

“But it _must_ be done, Harry. It simply must. You’ve barely escaped with your life how many times? You are powerful, but the Dark Lord is powerful _and_ cunning. Let me be cunning for you, trust me enough to do the things you’d rather avoid doing. If you _trust_ me, the only distasteful thing for you to do will be two words, at the end, Harry. Can you cast just _one_ Unforgivable, Harry? And trust me, until then?”

Harry sighed.

“It’s not that simple, Draco. The Dark Lord can’t be killed with just one Unforgivable.”

“It’s never simple, Harry. But let me deal with the ugly parts of it. I just…Harry…you _have_ to trust me. And you have to cast the Killing Curse, when it comes time.”

“Draco. You don’t know what you’re saying. But…yes, I’ll trust you, at least.”

Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry on the mouth, and Harry was suddenly devouring him hungrily, his hands eagerly pulling his robes open and exposing Draco’s pale skin to the air and to Harry’s exploring hands and tongue and chewing teeth…and that wildly powerful surge of magic that overloaded his mind with pain and pleasure and insane lust!

Draco found that his own hands had been busy with Harry’s robe, and they were both somehow naked, Harry poised to enter him, the blunt end of his manhood pressing impatiently at his opening and the dribbling liquid burning like fire where it dripped on his thigh.

“Harry, we have to stop!” Draco hissed just as Harry started to push onward, and suddenly they were both freezing cold as the anti-penetration spell Draco had taken to placing on himself every morning activated.

“What-t-t-t the f-f-f-fuck?” Harry chattered, his eyes bright with shock. Draco quickly moved back away from him, grabbing for his robes.

“Ch-ch-chastity spell.” Draco told him, backing away as Harry came to him for warmth. “No. We need distance or it’ll get colder.”

Harry seemed to understand that, and went for his own discarded clothes, rubbing his arms with his hands to warm them.

When they were dressed, Draco cast a warming charm on each of them then headed for the entrance.

“No goodbye kiss.” He said apologetically, “That charm will be pretty vicious for a while, we’ll have to avoid each other for the rest of the day.”

“Why’s it so awful?”

“Virginity is serious business for magical bonds. Very valuable. Chastity spells were invented for situations where the arranged suitors become so infatuated that they become rebellious. Punishing them with a day’s separation gives incentive to keep to the boundaries the next time.”

Harry nodded, still shivering with the proximity to Draco.

“Effective. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Draco turned and smiled at him.

“I hope so.”

Draco turned to go.

“Oh, Draco?”

Draco turned back to his fiancé, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

“Would you spend Christmas with me? Meet my…adopted family?”

Draco frowned.

“Is this at the Burrow?”

“No. It’s at Gri-, ugh. It’s at Sirius’ house.”

“It’s under Fidelius.”

“I’ll get you a note.”

“Will Molly Weasley be cooking?”

“Of course! It wouldn’t be Christmas without her making dinner!” Harry said, puzzled.

Draco sighed. Well, it couldn’t be perfect, could it?

“Very well. I’ll come.”

“I thought you’d made peace with the Weasleys?” Harry asked, confused.

“I did. That’s the problem.”

“What?”

Draco flushed, and placed his hands on his waist, emphasizing the narrow girth.

“Molly Weasley thinks I’m too thin.”

“She thinks everybody’s too thin.”

“She’s going to try to ‘fatten me up’.” Draco said sourly.

“It’s just one day, I’m sure she can’t do too much damage.”

“Have you ever _analyzed_ just _one_ of her meals, Harry? There’s enough trans fats and carbohydrates in one plateful to block up my whole digestive system for weeks!” Draco informed him.

Harry looked at him, speechless, then started to laugh.

Draco crossed his arms, waiting for him to finish. Harry of course, was not so patient, and tried to talk between giggles.

“You’re…Lord Malfoy…afraid…Mrs. Weasley’s cooking…trans fats…because they’ll make you fat!”

“Malfoys have very delicate and refined palettes.” Draco informed him haughtily. “Nevertheless, I will come and eat anyways. I’ll have to see if Severus can provide a potion of some kind.”

“So brave…” Harry mock-cooed.

Draco sneered back, mildly offended.

“There’s a difference between being brave, and being stupid, Potter”

“See you tomorrow, Draco.”

Draco just sniffed loudly to express his outrage and swirled his robe around him as he stalked away, steadfastly ignoring Harry’s ringing chuckles behind him.


	23. Yuletide Treachery (part 1)

“Blood-Traitors! Muggle-lovers and mudbloods defile the house of my ancestors!” was the first thing Draco heard as the portkey deposited him in the entry hall of Grimmauld Place.

“Good morning, Great-Aunt.” Draco said to the portrait. The image of the aged Matriarch paused, her mouth frozen in the act of opening to shriek another series of epithets as her eyes frantically took stock of him.

Silver eyes. Malfoy-blonde hair. The Malfoy pointed chin. The Black cheekbones and lips.

“You’re Narcissa’s boy! Draconis!”

“Lord Draco Malfoy, Madame.” Draco introduced himself.

“Oh Lord Malfoy, I’m horrified to have you in my house in it’s current state! That cursed mutt that used to be my son named a Halfblood as Heir! A _Potter_ , Heir to the House of Black!” she swooned dramatically.

“Well, now, don’t worry. I’ve not allowed my duties as Lord of Malfoy to distract me from the call of my mother’s line in distress. I’ve arranged to put things right, never fear.”

“I don’t see how even a Malfoy could possibly.” His great-aunt sniffed. “The Black name is dead. Still, I would see my home in the hands of those of the blood, at the least. Have you managed to cheat Potter of Grimmauld, then?” she asked eagerly.

Draco laughed.

“Oh no. I won’t be taking over Grimmauld. Sirius had a daughter, and I’ve persuaded Potter to gift her with the Black estate as his rightful heiress.”

“But… _how_? I’ve made numerous demands that the place be given over to Bellatrix or Narcissa, to no use!”

Draco shrugged elegantly.

“Potter is a Gryffindor, dear Aunt. Jamie is quite adept at using Potter’s feelings on family to her advantage, even if he doesn’t understand blood-ties.”

“ _Jamie_? That’s not a proper Black name!”

“Well no, it wouldn’t be. The Ministry took her at birth, Sirius never even knew of her. She showed up at Hogwarts to be sorted this Fall. I have, of course, begun teaching her proper pureblood culture, which she has been denied by her upbringing.”

“That is… _outrageous_! We must _sue_!” She commanded, a bloodthirsty look spreading itself over her painted face.

“Well, one project at a time, dear Aunt. I’m currently seeing to the reunification of line-of-title to blood, next generation there will be a proper Black Heir.” Draco said.

“Truly?” she breathed, shocked.

Draco smirked.

“And of course the Black line will be getting some royal blood out of the marriage as well.”

“Gryffindor...” the woman said in a hushed, horrified voice. “Well I hope you’ll be training her properly, even a Potter can be manipulated by a deft hand.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me, Madame. I’m a Malfoy first, I wouldn’t manipulate such a prize solely for the benefit of Black.”

The painting rocked as the old woman recoiled in shock.

“ _You_?”

Draco just smirked.

“Indeed. Now if you could excuse me, I’d promised my fiancé I would greet him and his family for breakfast.”

Draco swept out of the entry hall, leaving the portrait of his aunt uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

Draco walked into the dining room and found it deserted. A rattling in the kitchen told him Molly Weasley was about, but he wasn’t quite ready to face her and her arsenal of tasteful time-bombs.

He moved on into the parlour and came stock still as amber eyes regarded him curiously from the doorway.

“Draco Malfoy. I thought it might be you.” Remus Lupin said calmly.

Draco started. He had been very careful, covering his tracks, sneering at all the right times, even staging altercations in the hallways to keep the rumor mill churning with news of who had hexed who.

“How-”

“You and Harry were always a little too desperate in your enmity for it to be pure dislike.” Lupin told him.

Draco just stared at him. His mother was one thing. If an outsider could read him that easily the secret would be out before he was ready.

“He refused my hand of friendship in first year.” He stated evenly.

“If tales are true, you were a little snot in first year.” Lupin countered.

Draco exhaled and held his breath to counteract the flush that rose. Somehow he felt like Lupin knew he’d blushed anyways.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘pulling pig-tails’?” Lupin continued.

“I’m not at all familiar with Muggle butchering methods.” Draco sniffed.

“A pig-tail is a cute word for when little girls tie their hair back. Sometimes when a little boy likes a girl, but doesn’t know what to do about it, he expresses it by being mean.” He explained.

Draco didn’t answer.

Lupin closed the book he’d been reading and rose gracefully to his feet, crossing one arm across his stomach and propping the other elbow on his fist, his hand coming up to stroke his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

“Besides. I could smell you on him when he came home. I wasn’t sure if it was a fistfight or snogging, but the pheremones the two of you put out around each other when I taught Defense had me seriously considering the latter.”

Draco felt oddly relieved at the reminder of the man’s hybrid status.

The werewolf approached him and held out his hand.

“Remus Lupin. A pleasure to meet the one who finally put so many smiles on Harry’s face, lately.”

Draco found a genuine smile stretching across his own face at this greeting.

“Draco Malfoy. I know Harry looks up to you as almost a father-figure, I’m pleased to meet you as well. During the day. I…don’t do well around werewolves. Fenrir-”

Remus’ face changed suddenly.

“Greyback! You’ve met him.” His voice dropped to an intense, urgent whisper.

Draco nodded, not meeting those terrible yellow eyes.

“I see. I’ve…met him. When I was…younger. I understand your feelings entirely.” Lupin closed his eyes and shuddered slightly.

“He’s the one who bit you.” Draco realized.

The man didn’t answer, just turned his head away for a moment, reliving some horrible memory no doubt. Then he turned back to Draco with a soft smile.

“I see you’re an early riser. Harry is still in bed, upstairs. Perhaps you can wake him and bring him down for breakfast?”

As a distraction technique, it was brilliant and entirely effective, a small Slytherin portion of his brain noted, as Draco’s body eagerly made its way up the creaky stairway to the second floor, padding along to until he found the door the werewolf indicated.

Draco silently opened the door, closing it softly behind him as he padded softly over to the side of the bed.

Harry was curled around a pillow, his bare shoulder exposed, looking incredibly bronze in contrast to the white duvet. The adorable mop of black hair was even more ruffled than usual, and as Draco knelt next to the bed he observed the long eyelashes fluttering against a smooth cheek.

Draco sat there and watched his boyfriend sleeping. Innocent, peaceful – free of the weight of responsibility Dumbledore and the wizarding world had placed on him at a young age. His rosy lips creased lightly in a small smile as he slept.

Draco leaned forward and touched those lips with his, and when he opened his eyes again Harry’s green eyes were looking back at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They sat there for a long moment, just looking at each other.

“I met your werewolf. I think I like him.”

“What did he say?”

“He already thought it might be me you were dating.”

“Remus knows things.”

“He said something about pulling pigs, and that we were too intense to really dislike each other.”

“Pigtails. Yeah, I guess we were.”

“We’ll have to be careful of that.”

“We’ve been acting the same way for seven years, do you really think we should start being nicer now?”

“Maybe not. We don’t have much longer to hide anyways.”

“We don’t?”

“The Dark Lord knows. Dumbledore knows. Nobody else is powerful enough to interfere.”

“The Ministry.”

“Fudge is buyable. I’m not concerned.”

“So why don’t we go public now?”

“I should inform Pansy I’m ending my father’s marriage contract for me first.”

“Then?”

“I’ll finish the ritual and we’ll get married, and notify the society papers of the new bond.”

“It’ll be more than a note in the society papers, Draco.”

“I’m sure. But they won’t get advance notice. Powerful bonds should be witnessed by friends and enemies. Not reporters.”

“What? Enemies?”

Draco kissed Harry’s adorable confused mouth.

“Yes, Harry. Royal courtships end with the spilling of blood. Creating a new familial bond through marriage calls up some extremely powerful ancient magic.”

“Draco if you’re saying what I think you’re saying…”

“A power the Dark Lord knows not, Harry.”

“But I want a wedding!”

“Royal weddings are always on battlefields, Harry. They’re too important to be draped in flowers and lace.”

“Will nothing in my life ever be normal?”

“You’re so much more than normal, Harry.”

Draco kissed him, and was saddened that the troubled look didn’t go away.

“On our honeymoon, I’ll take you to a small villa I know in Greece. We’ll wed in a beautiful tiny chapel with white flowers everywhere. Get on our knees in our best robes and pledge our lives to each other.”

“Yes, I want that.” Harry implored.

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Who would you invite as witnesses?”

“Ron and Hermoine. And Remus and Dumbledore.”

“I’ll invite my parents, and Blaise and Pansy if they come out of the war intact.”

“Are they-”

“We don’t discuss it directly, that isn’t our way. I’ve given them as much information to make the right choice as I can without betraying our own interests.”

“I like it when you say ‘our’.”

Draco kissed him again.

“I do too.”

“I liked you waking me up.”

Draco repeated the kiss.

“I did too.”

“I want you to cuddle with me.”

Draco sighed as he nuzzled his face into Harry’s sleep-warmed neck.

“I do too. But your werewolf sent me to get you for breakfast.”

“Can you just…maybe…hug me for a minute?”

Draco wrapped his arms around his prone boyfriend as best as he could and squeezed him snugly. The warmth of his body was making Draco feel drowsy, and the indefinable musky scent of his body from the nighttime sweat was pleasant and sweet. He could hear Harry’s slow, steady heartbeat where his ear was pressed against his chest.

“I could fall asleep like this.”

“I wish you could hold me like this more.”

“Mmm. I don’t think the spells would interfere if we don’t try anything improper.”

“Improper like what?” Harry giggled.

Draco shifted and moved his face down to press against Harry’s solid stomach.

“Let me know when you feel a weird buzzing chill at your extremities, it’s the warning signal.”

“Huh?”

Draco moved down farther and rested his face on the soft bulge that was Harry’s manhood resting between his legs.

“Oh…Draco…?”

The bulge stirred, pressing back against Draco’s cheekbone as he rubbed his face against the crotch of Harry’s pajama pants.

“Mmm, Draco…”

The bulge now pressed back very firmly, sliding to the side and around until it was pointing upwards towards Harry’s chin, bouncing up and down as it throbbed. Draco carefully pulled back the odd stretchy material at the waistband of the pajamas and revealed Harry’s brown penis, hard and silky and drooling just a bit from the tip.

“Oh, Harry…you’re so beautiful.” Draco mumbled before taking the weeping head into his mouth.

Harry’s hips slammed upward and Draco carefully pinned him down to the bed at the waist as he sucked lightly at the viscous substance.

“Ah, Draco, my fingers! Cold!”

Draco backed off regretfully. He was feeling the same buzzing as well.

“You were close to spewing your seed in my mouth, that’s why.” Draco said, replacing his mouth with his fingers, spreading his saliva and the natural lubrication over the head as he stroked it sensually, up and down, up and down.

“Oh…god…Draco…please don’t stop…oh, shit…I’m going to, going to…”

Harry’s words devolved into a loud, low groan as his entire body suddenly bucked, his limbs going stiff and his face contorting into an almost pained expression as his penis expanded in Draco’s hand, firing several white ropes of his seed across his bare chest.

The sharp smell of Harry’s seed hit Draco’s nostrils and, on impulse, he quickly unbuttoned his own pants and stroked himself once, twice, three times and then he was also spraying his seed all over Harry’s half-naked body, over his bedsheets, marking the place where he slept.

Draco bent double, supporting his weight with a hand in the gooey mess on Harry’s heaving chest. Both of them panting to catch their breath.

“Well…that was…wow…I can live with that till we can get married properly.” Harry gasped.

Draco smiled and kissed him on the lips, letting his tongue just barely dance into his mouth before pulling back.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. I still have to face the rest of your adopted family. And six meals.” Draco said seriously.

“You skipped getting to sleep with me, in between some of those meals.” Harry pouted.

“No I didn’t. I’m rather looking forward to that part, actually.” Draco smiled, and gave Harry another final peck before accioing Harry’s designated towel from under the bed.

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to find that!”

“This…is disgusting. Don’t you Scourgify it after using it?”

“Um…”

“Kreacher”

“ _Draco!_ ” Harry scrambled to cover himself under the sheets.

“Master _Draco_ , sir! Kreacher is pleased and _happy_ to serve Narcissa’s son, a _true_ Black!” the elf groveled eagerly.

“Take this and clean it. I want a new towel immediately. You’re to regularly clean and replace this towel every morning while the room is empty. Understand?”

“Oh _yes_ , Master Draco!”

The house elf took the towel and disappeared with a pop. A second later, a fresh towel appeared neatly folded on the nightstand.

Draco threw back the sheets and tenderly cleaned the mess from Harry’s body.

“Remus will still smell it, you know.”

“ _I_ can still smell it.” Draco corrected him. “I’m going to be hard all day, around you.”

Harry smirked. A smirk very clearly copied from Draco’s own portfolio, he thought indignantly.

“Good. That’s the way I like you best.”

Draco retaliated for the tease by jabbing his fingers into the Gryffindor’s stomach in a tickling motion, then running for his life as his boyfriend came for revenge.

“See you at breakfast, Harry!”

Draco ran down the stairs and slowed enough to make a dramatic entrance into the kitchen.

Molly Weasley did not look shocked. A flicker of mild surprise flashed behind her eyes, but quickly disappeared as they narrowed, calculatingly assessing Draco’s slender hips and sculpted cheekbones.

Muttering something about skinny, underfed boys always banding together, and something that sounded alarmingly like an arithmancy formula having to do with pregnancy and pelvic girth, Molly summarily ordered him to sit and began a whirlwind of preparations of what Draco was sure would be a monumental breakfast.

“Ah ha!” Harry called out from the doorway. Draco turned to look and felt something warm stirring between his legs as he took in Harry’s naked torso stretching up out of the narrow waist of his pajama pants.

Mrs. Weasley looked too, a far more clinical gaze than Draco’s, and stormed over towards him.

“Harry James Potter! You haven’t been eating properly! Look at you, I can see your ribs sticking out!” she poked suspiciously at Harry’s stomach.

“Those aren’t my ribs! I’ve been doing sit-ups every night!” Harry protested.

“You are far too skinny, Harry James Potter, I can see every detail under your skin!” Molly retorted, and grabbed possibly the most powerful wizard since Merline by the ear, dragging him to the chair next to Draco.

“Now eat!”

 

An hour later…

“Draco Malfoy, you _will_ eat those pancakes before you leave this table.” Molly Weasley looked like some kind of culinary executioner standing over him, legs braced, with the rather large spatula brandished in her hand like a cudgel, drops of fatty liquids dripping off of it with every gesture.

Draco looked down at the plate. He’d tried to take only one of the gigantic but dangerously delicious flapjacks, but Molly had forced three, _three_ of them onto his plate.

“Molly, please! I promise I’ll put away everything on my plate but I can’t eat with you hovering over me!” Draco pleaded.

Molly harrumphed and disappeared.

“Kreacher.” Draco whispered.

“Master Draco!”

“Shhh! Get rid of the food on this plate please, but leave the plate unwashed.”

The food disappeared.

“Very good. Now leave the plate. I need Molly to believe I’ve eaten it all.”

“Master Draco suspects poison.” Kreacher said wisely.

“Not precisely. I know she is attempting to sabotage my figure, however.” Draco said gravely.

“Kreacher _knew_ the blood-traiters were up to horrible, _horrible_ things!” Kreacher whispered triumphantly.

“Yes, well. I have my own plans to deal with it. I have a special mission for you, unique to your status as the Black house elf. This is very important, but you can’t tell anyone about it. Including these people.”

“Kreacher will keep Master Draco’s secrets!”

“What if someone questions you?”

Kreacher spat on the floor.

“Kreacher must obey Master Harry the filthy Half-Blood. Kreacher isn’t wanting to, but Master Harry insists.”

“But can you skirt around the answers so he doesn’t know what you’re up to?”

Kreacher looked up at him, a crafty glint in his deranged eyes.

“Kreacher is doing exactly that, Master Draco is wise.”

Draco smiled, and started informing Kreacher of what he wanted.


	24. Yuletide Treachery (part 2)

“My name is Jamie.”

“That’s entirely unacceptable. We’ll just have to change it to something appropriate. How about Polaris Capricus Black?”

Jamie wrinkled her nose.

“That sounds like a name for a circus animal.”

“Well I’m sure we can come up with a star that suits you. It’s important to stick to the naming conventions, my dear. The family magic could hesitate before recognizing you as Black, for example. Your blood runs true, dear, but names have magical significance and are easily ascertained.”

“But I like being Jamie!”

“Don’t try that lower lip nonsense with me, young lady. Your father attempted the very same trick and he got blasted right off the family tree!”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I never said I was nice. Only powerful. Which means you should most certainly do as I say. Now, how has young Lord Malfoy been educating you on the Noble Struggle?”

“What struggle?”

“Against Mudbloods and Blood-traitors, of course!”

“But Draco said Mudbloods are important!”

“Well yes dear, but they can’t be allowed to get out of hand! Take Mr. Potter’s little friend, for example. The girl is so busy trying to appear intelligent that she isn’t aware of her place in the scheme of things. She’s apparently content to bring her strength under the influence of a pureblood family, but her behavior is that of one determined to found her own original line!”

“But Hermione _is_ smart!”

“Child. The girl’s been raised by Muggles, basic logic and analyticial thinking have to be impressed from birth.”

“But her parents are dentists.”

“ _Girl_! Do not speak of those butcher in my house! Dentists are some of the very worst Muggle travesties of so-called medical expertise in existence!”

“But they’re not so bad, these ones!”

“No. I won’t hear this barbarism spoken of. It is clear Draco has not covered this aspect of your bringing up. Has he at least broached the subject of obtaining the Dark Lord’s early favor? He will see fit to make allowance for your situation, as he himself was Exiled to be raised by Muggles in his early years.”

“Harry says we should call him by his name, but Draco says I shouldn’t attract his notice.”

“ _Harry_ is it? Well, I suppose he is unfortunately named Heir. And being courted by my grand-nephew, how bizarre. Be careful with that one, my dear. He is still a Potter and a Gryffindor and marked for death by the Dark Lord, as soon as he can produce an Heir for our line.”

“Draco would never let the Dark Lord kill Harry!”

“My dear, there are simply things you do not yet understand. Do try not to get yourself too attached. Your father made the same mistake with James Potter, I’m afraid, and it quite ruined him.”

“I don’t think you’re a very nice lady. I’m going to hang out with Harry and ‘Mione and Ron now. Bye.”

“Come back here young lady! I haven’t finished interviewing you yet!”

“You’re a nasty old woman and Draco says you’re dead anyways, so you can’t do anything to me!”

Jamie stuck out her tongue and skipped merrily into the living room, where she was hugged enthusiastically by Molly Weasley.

The Golden Trio and the Twins were far too busy rolling on the ground with laughter over the overheard conversation.

Even Draco found himself smiling as he watched his young cousin try to straighten her hair after Molly Weasley’s powerful embrace.

“Jamie! You missed half the presents!” Harry called.

Jamie grinned and plopped herself in his lap.

“What did you get me Harry?”

“Nothing but a lump of coal, I heard you talking back to old Mrs. Black out there!”

“Aww, but she was nasty and mean!”

“You put her in her place, all right.” Harry grinned.

“Now Harry, we don’t need to encourage Jamie to be rude to adults. Even portraits.”

Fred and George goosed Draco from behind and each caught him in a one-armed hug from each side.

“Don’t be”

“A spoilsport, Malfoy!”

“She just said”

“What we’ve all wanted to say”

“To that old windbag”

“For years!”

“Just because she’s nice”

“To you doesn’t mean”

“She’s nice at all.”

“It just means”

“You’re a suck-up!”

Draco’s frown was interrupted by Jamie grabbing a random box under the tree, reading the label, and shoving it triumphantly into Draco’s hands.

Draco stared at the box suspiciously.

It was lopsided, clearly wrapped by hand…as in a human hand, not an elf. And the name-tag bore the label “To Draco Malfoy, from Molly Weasley.”

Clearly, it would be something designed to make him fat. Possibly chocolates. Draco cursed as his mouth watered at the idea of fudge made by Molly Weasley. The woman was a menace. 

He was positive any such goodies would _not_ include any of the standard nutrient-balancing potions in their ingredients. That was probably why they were so much more tasty than the extremely expensive ones he normally had imported from Zurich.

“Go on! Open it!” Harry said encouragingly. Draco glared at his boyfriend, who seemed to find Draco’s ongoing cat-and-mouse game with Molly Weasley to be a great joke, and had in fact revealed this hilarity to his two friends, who had agreed.

Draco was uncertain whether they’d yet sunk so low as to actually inform the enemy of his ruses to foil her plans to fatten him up. If they did, things would be that much more difficult. As it was, Draco was aware that he’d taken in over 40% more calories than he’d used within the last 24 hours. 

Molly was clearly winning.

Draco clenched his jaw at the happy, encouraging look on his boyfriend’s face, and carefully unwrapped the gift.

Yes, he was clearly correct. A white, rectangular box. No doubt containing something dangerously tasty. Hopefully fudge. _NO!_ Hopefully _not_ fudge, Draco corrected himself.

He took a deep breath and pulled open the flap of the box.

Only to be confronted with a black ‘D’ on a background of yellow.

Confused, Draco studied it more closely. It appeared to be knitted wool. The D was knitted into the original weave, rather than sewn on.

Draco carefully pulled the fabric up out of the box and spread it out. 

It was a sweater. 

One sleeve was slightly shorter than the other. An odd design, perhaps intended to enable easy access to a wand in a wrist sheath? But no, the shorter sleeve had not been widened at the end to accommodate such a device.

Why, then?

Draco stared at the shirt, reaching out a hand to trace the ‘D’ when he felt it…that tingle of magic…that odd quirky Weasley magic, of course. But why would it be in the shirt? Perhaps it had some warming charms on it…Draco pulled out his wand and tapped it to his eyes with a spell to enable magical sight.

And gasped.

The sweater did in fact have a warming charm, along with several others, including protection charms, luck charms, cheering charms, and…well, of _course_ this was Molly Weasley after all, nutrient-enhancement and appetite accelerant charms. 

But not cast the normal way, with a wave of the wand, after the sweater was finished.

These were knotwork charms, set in every single twine of yarn around another…not at all a standard weave, Draco realized. The entire structure of the thing was a masterpiece of knotwork magic, Molly Weasley must have used a knotwork-hook extension for her wand and knitted _every last inch of it_ by _hand_!

Draco looked up at her, shock and startlement in his eyes.

“This is…I can’t possibly accept this! It’s far too much!”

Harry had sidled up to him as soon as he saw what was in the box, and therefore hadn’t seen his face. He was suddenly whispering urgently in his ear.

“Draco…please, _please_ accept it! It’d hurt her feelings so much if you turned your nose up at it, she knits them by hand for everyone in the family. I know it’s not pretty like your normal clothes but it means a lot to her. Please…for me? It’s not just a sweater.”

Draco turned to him.

“I _know_ it’s not just a sweater! Do _you_? It’s…Harry…do you not feel the magic in this? Do you have any idea what happens when something like this is knitted by a witches _own hands_?”

Harry looked confused, looking down at the ‘H’ on his own chest.

“Mrs. Weasley. This is…this should be an heirloom for your family, I couldn’t possibly take something like this from you. Please, give it to one of your sons!”

Molly smiled gently at him.

“And which one of my sons’ names starts with a ‘D’, Draco? I started making this the same day you came to our house and made peace with Arthur. The knots are attuned for you, use it.”

Draco just stared at her, momentarily speechless.

“I…well… _thank you_! This is…beyond words, _priceless_!” Draco stumbled for a second before finally recovering himself and shaking a finger at her teasingly. “But if you think for one moment that I’ll wear it while eating anything think again! I saw those nutrient-enhancement knots, I’m not completely ignorant!”

Molly chuckled.

“Oh, well at least I’ll have the satisfaction of getting one proper meal into you! It is tradition, after all!” she said cheerily.

“What do you mean-”

Draco felt his wand slip suddenly from his grasp and stared at his boyfriend accusingly as the twins suddenly grabbed him from behind.

“Can’t be letting this one get away, can we brother dearest?”

“Oh no, if he’s going to be having _Harry’s_ wee babies he’s gonna need some toughening up!”

“Put me down!” Draco demanded ominously.

He was immediately dropped unceremoniously on the floor, where one of the twins sat on him while the other wrestled him, protesting angrily, into his new sweater.

Minutes later, the family looked on amused as Draco sat up, hair completely touseled, face red, and wearing a sweater whose yellow shade made his skin and hair look sallow and pathetic.

“Aww, you’re so cute in your new sweater!” Harry teased, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

Draco snatched his wand back from his boyfriend and sent stinging hexes at the twins, catching each in the backside as they retreated.

Feeling somewhat mollified, Draco smugly kissed his boyfriend on the lips.

“I’ll get you for that little betrayal later!” he whispered, “For now, get up on the couch. I have a present for you.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, childlike, behind those glasses, and Draco suppressed the urge to remove them and snog him properly. Instead he stood up, giving his boyfriend a hand up and pushing him onto the couch between Fred and George, sparing a stern glance for each of them.

Draco accioed his gift and placed it in Harry’s hands, kneeling next to his bony knees where he could see his expression.

At a touch to the bow, the wrapping paper elegantly peeled itself to the sides, and the hinged lid of the box popped slightly open.

Harry had jumped a bit at the theatrical bit of magic, then with a grin at Draco, reached forward and opened the lid.

White phosphorous smoke drifted out of the opening, and a small crystalline platform resolved itself as a multi-faceted pyramid sticking up from the depths of the box. The top of the pyramid cracked open, the facets sliding down the sides of the pyramid revealing…the sparkling diamond ring inside.

Harry’s breath caught, and Draco saw his eyes glisten suddenly with tears as he reached a trembling hand towards the ring.

Draco stilled his hand, and reached for it himself.

“Harry. We’ve done this the wizarding way, but some Muggle traditions have their sentimental value too.”

Harry’s attention was suddenly focused on Draco, still kneeling at his feet.

“Harry Potter, will you marry me?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before he moved his hand into Draco’s free hand, nodding furiously.

“Will you?” Draco whispered.

“Yes. Yes I will.” Harry finally whispered back.

Draco slid the ring onto the shaking finger, then kissed the hand.

“You’ve turned me into a Hufflepuff, Potter. Don’t you dare turn your back on me now.”

Harry smiled.

“I’d have to be stupid to turn my back on a Malfoy. Especially one I’m in love with.”

And that was apparently the extent of mushiness the twins would tolerate without comment, and their chorused “awwwww” made Harry burst out into teary laughter.

And suddenly they were in the center of a crowd of Weasleys, all wanting a chance to hug and kiss and exclaim over the couple.

“I’m so glad Fred and George were right! I was so upset that I wouldn’t be able to make a sweater for Harry’s love, and it turns out I was working on one the whole time!” Molly Weasley said happily while enthusiastically suffocating Draco by pressing his face into her ample bosom.

Draco pulled back, both for his own self-preservation and to clarify.

“What do you mean, Fred and George?”

“They kept insisting that the sweater wouldn’t be an issue! Then they’d just burst out laughing! It was so frustrating!”

Draco just looked at the twins inquisitively.

“It wasn’t that hard,”

“To figure it out”

“Considering the timing.”

“After all, you showed up”

“At the Burrow”

“Not long after the Heirloom gift.”

“We made,”

“A brilliant deduction.”

“As usual.”

“Fine then. Fred. George.” Draco said, nodding to the appropriate twin in turn.

“Actually, I’m George, and he’s Fred.”

“No. Actually, You’re Fred, and you’re George.” Draco said calmly.

Now the twins eyes were narrowed at him.

“How do you know that? Our own mother can’t tell us apart!”

Draco smirked.

“It’s easy. I _try_ to say “Weasley”, and the reconciliation spell makes me say your correct name.”

He almost laughed at the dumbstruck faces of the twins.

Ron Weasley _did_ laugh.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’d like to have my fiancé to myself, now.” Harry interjected.

“By all means, Harry,”

“Do take him away.”

“And snog him.”

“Until he turns blue.”

“And some other parts turn a bit blue, too!”

The twins cackled as Molly Weasley scolded them for their obscene joke, and Harry led Draco away by the hand, leading him quickly into a convenient closet.

“I never did thank you… _properly_ for this.” Harry said breathlessly, between kisses. 

Draco shifted away from the cursed mop that was trying to get into the action, its ropes curling seductively around his ankle and lower leg like tentacles.

“Mmmm. I’m glad it made you happy.” Draco said, kissing Harry feverishly. 

He kicked sideways at the amorous mop, knocking it away, but it returned quickly, now joined by an enchanted scrub brush which unfortunately had the ability to magically hover, enabling it to slide its bristles suggestively up the inside of his thigh.

Harry moaned and reached a hand inside Draco’s shirt, pinching a nipple. 

Despite the distraction of the amorous mop and the scrub brush, which was now using its follicles to lovingly fondle the curve of Draco’s arse, he found himself responding to Harry’s magic.

He tucked his face into Harry’s neck and licked the salty skin.

Harry moaned.

Draco moaned.

The vacuum cleaner moaned.

Wait…what the hell _was_ that machine, anyways? And why was it, and the other cleaning equipment, getting off on what should be a very private and intimate moment between Harry and Draco?

Draco stumbled out of the closet, thoroughly creeped out of the erotic mood.

“Draco? Did I pinch you too hard? Did the chastity charm do something? I didn’t feel anything-”

“This _house_!” Draco gasped in sudden realization. “It was…it was trying to _join in_!”

Harry stopped, confused and then concerned.

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear it? The house _moaned_ when we moaned.” He shuddered.

“Draco…you just bumped the on-button for that old vacuum cleaner. If you don’t want to fool around here, I know this part of the house is creepy. I guess I’ve gotten used to it-”

“Harry. I had a mop curling its tentacles _seductively_ around my ankle, and a magical scrub-brush _copping a feel of my ass_! And that thing _did_ moan! At the same time we did! I should have known, it’s the Black family magic. It wants us together so it can have a blooded Heir! And it doesn’t care about waiting for the bond. And it was _getting off_ on us making out!”

“Draco…um…okay. So you got a bit creeped out.” Harry said gently, as if he were part of the psycho-ward at St. Mungos.

Draco groaned in frustration. His fiancé was completely oblivious to some of the more dangerous parts of magic that didn’t involve a quick A.K.

“Harry. I’m not creeped out. Trust me. I _know_ old pureblood generational magic, and I know how to recognize when it’s doing something it shouldn’t be trying to do. Remember I told you how family magic goes a bit mad when it’s separated from its bloodline? This was a bit of it. Suffice to say, we’re lucky we didn’t get locked in there for nine months. You can at least bet our Chastity charms aren’t going to be very dependable.” Draco told him patiently.

“So we can’t make out here?”

“Well. We can certainly have a snog. Probably should do it in front of someone so they can interrupt us if it get’s too heated.”

Harry pouted.

“Great. The one time I get my fiancé all to myself away from nosy schoolmates and Rita Skeeter, some perverted old house means we can’t do anything here.”

Draco smiled and kissed the pouty lips.

“We’ll get plenty of time later. Now let’s find Ron and Hermione so we can get some kissing action in.”

Harry brightened.

“Sounds like a plan!”

 

After Ron and Hermoine finally managed to successfully separate the amorous couple, Draco found himself in one of the wings of the house that hadn’t yet been cleaned. 

Deserted. 

Perfect.

“Kreacher.”

“Yes Master Draco!”

“Have you done as I asked?”

“Yes Master Draco! Kreacher found the artifact Master Draco is wanting! Very powerful and Dark! Kreacher has never felt so frisky, Kreacher had to enjoy himself with the statue of the beautiful wood-elf Laliarana in the back garden after touching the wonderful, wonderful Dark magic! Would Master Draco like to meet the Lady Laliarana as well?”

Draco tried not to visualize the decrepit old house-elf copulating with a statue.

“No, Kreacher. Show me the artifact.”

Kreacher produced it from suspiciously deep beneath his ratty old towel, eagerly offering it up to Draco.

“No, Kreacher. I don’t want to touch it.”

“Oh, but Master Draco! The magic is so _invigorating_!”

“I said _no_!”

“Kreacher is a bad house elf. Wrong to question Master Draco, even if Master Draco is foolish to not enjoy the wonderful Dark Magic. No, no, no. Bad Kreacher!”

“You will place this inside a container, and deliver the container with it till inside to my house elves at Malfoy Manor. They have instructions for its care and protection.”

“Yes Master Draco! Kreacher will do as Master is asking!”

Kreacher disappeared with a pop.

Draco wandered back towards the popular areas until he found the library again.

The Black library was fascinating. Built along similar lines to the Malfoy library, and with a similar pattern of Neutral and Grey tomes and the irritating but not illegal revisionist historical accounts…all organized according to a system psychologically guaranteed to cause any uninformed searcher to give up on certain areas before they ran across the truly illegal Black tomes.

Draco, of course, knew the pattern. His mother was raised in this house after all.

But what he found in the Black Library was a bit…well…farther into the realm of madness than what he’d find in the pristine splendor of the Malfoy collection.

Clearly, yet another example of the consequences of hereditary magic left without the stabilizing influence of a blooded Heir.

Draco’s fingers froze as they passed across one spine, and he quickly drew them back, inspecting the title.

_“Matrimonius et Animus”_

Draco slowly withdrew the volume and carefully placed it on the desk atop the one he’d last been reading. Clearly the Black magic wanted him to know something in particular.

He read the introductory page.

_Marriage and War have had an inverse correlation to each other in wizarding tradition for centuries. However, the simple value of the marriage bond as forming symbolic unions for alliances and treaties has caused the intrinsic power involved in the formation of such a bond to be often overlooked._

_Marriage is, for all intents and purposes, a magical bondage which is closely related to many other bonds which are treated more carefully. Life debts, is an example from the Light. A neutral use of the same brand of magic is an Unbreakable Oath or the bond between house elves and their families. On the darker end of the spectrum is the Dark Mark._

_The truth is that the marriage bond, while traditionally mutual, is but one application of a highly customizable brand of magic. And like all such wild magic, it carries its own inherent power to amplify and broadcast the emotions that motivate the underlying consent. Where submission or gratitude or determination or romantic devotion motivate, their conclusion is magically enforced._

_It is therefore possible for the savvy party to such a bond to manipulate the circumstances of the bond to produce a wide range of effects, both regulating the nature of the future relations between the parties, and the side-effects on those witness to the ceremony. This is a highly unexplored field, and wizards and witches should exercise a great deal of caution to take into account and control all arithmantic and symbolic factors as closely as one would while brewing a complex potion._

_Marriage bonds are the most ancient form of bond-magic, and can closely interact with even more ancient forms of magic, such as emotional magic. Consequently, the result of mistake in such tampering can be fatal to far more than the participants._

_We would direct the reader’s attention to the Black Death in the 14th Century, which resulted from an attempt by a witch to insure her future husband’s death within a year of their union. She had failed to account for the fact that her husband would manage to ensare her own emotions, thus invoking the fatalistic side of Love magic, which interacted powerfully with the Death magic, resulting in the first of many thousands of wizarding deaths. The Plague also spread to the Muggle population, cutting their numbers by millions. However fortunate this effect in culling their strength and the influence of the dominant Muggle monotheistic religious order, it also resulted in their heightened awareness of the existence of magic, motivating some of the first witch-hunts in European history._

“Draco? What are you doing in here?”

Draco snapped the book shut and slid it into a pocket of his robes. He smoothed the page of the book under it to check his cover story…oh…it was the much more conventional book on pureblood-mudblood sexual unions he’d been perusing earlier.

He hummed distractedly at his fiancé, quickly turning a page and skimming it for context.

“Draco?”

“Hmm? Oh, Harry…just doing some research for when we finally bond. The Black library has so much material I’ve never read.”

Harry’s arms came around him from behind, and Harry was resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder.

“What kinda research?”

“Just…the magic part of it. You know…when you touch me like _that_ , I can feel your magic burning into me?”

Harry recoiled in horror.

“Draco! Why didn’t you say something?”

Draco felt bereft of his touch.

“Come back…please? It’s not when we’re like this. Just when we’re sexual. And I like it, anyways. It’s like this massive flood of power barely holding itself back from consuming me.”

Harry tentatively wrapped his arms back around Draco.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Harry. It’s not pain, really. It’s just so intense that’s the only way I can describe it. You’re just so powerful, and your mother…Malfoys normally don’t marry new magic. We’re very sensitive, our magic very refined, so raw power overwhelms us. Do you feel my magic when you touch me that way?”

“Mmm. Yes…like…like silk. Everywhere, silk touching me and making me even more crazy wanting you.”

Draco started to feel a low burn from Harry’s hard body behind him as the topic got them both thinking in that direction. Draco ignored the stirring under his robes and pushed the conversation back to topic.

“That’s a good analogy. My magic is fine-woven silk and yours is…tempered steel chain-mail. When you touch me that way, they are trying to join, the way they’ll join when we bond. When we do…to you it’ll probably be like you’re drowning in liquid silk, to me it’ll probably be like drinking absinthe while it’s on fire.”

“Draco…I don’t like the sound of this.” Harry said uncomfortably.

“Oh. We’ll enjoy it, both of us. And then when my magic has soothed yours and yours has reinforced mine, you’ll have much more control and I’ll have much more base power. Then after that when we touch each other it’ll just be small balancing and recycling exchanges that are exciting but not uncomfortable. I’ll just have to make sure I survive the initial exchange.”

Harry had gone completely silent behind him. His hand no longer absently rubbing Draco’s stomach.

“Harry?”

He didn’t respond.

Draco shut the book and turned in his chair so he could see him. Harry’s face looked troubled, fearful.

Draco took his hands in his.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Draco.” He whispered tremulously. “I…I’ve wanted you for so long, I never knew that it could literally destroy you. Everyone I love dies, Draco. Everyone. It’s a curse, I think. Part of the prophecy. ‘Neither can live while the other survives.’ If there’s even a chance that my love could…no, we can’t take the risk, Draco.”

“Harry,” Draco had a suspicion where this was going, and didn’t like it.

“ _No_ , Draco. I won’t hurt you. After _he_ ’s gone, if you’re sure we can make it safe, I’ll want nothing more. But while this curse is on me…this damn prophecy…I won’t take the risk.”

Harry’s face was streaming tears now.

“Harry, don’t say that. It’s _not_ a risk, I’m researching it! Do you hear me? I wouldn’t risk my own life, you _know_ that!”

Harry shook his head, slowly taking off the ring Draco had given him that morning.

“I’m sorry Draco. Everyone connected to me dies. I won’t let you be one of those. I’m sorry for…I didn’t…I didn’t think.” Harry cried, his fist clenched around the ring. 

“Harry, no.” Draco said, alarmed. A knot of absolute dread was building in his sternum, and he found he couldn’t swallow properly.

Harry took his hand, placing the ring in his palm, and using Draco’s own fingers to cover it.

“Harry, please no?” Draco asked desperately.

Harry lifted Draco’s closed fist to his face and kissed it, tears dripping down onto Draco’s fingers.

“Stupid me.” He whispered brokenly.

Then he was gone.


	25. Return to Malfoy Manor

Draco stormed into Malfoy Manor like an icy wind, his robes swirling crisply behind him as his feet snapped down harshly onto the polished marble.

“Draco, darling! How did it-” Narcissa faltered as she saw her son’s grey eyes brimming with anger and disappointment. “Draco?”

Draco didn’t respond, moving quickly past her towards the stairs.

His mother followed him persistently.

“Draco! Please tell me what happened? Did you and Harry have a fight?”

Draco stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning slightly so his face was in profile to his mother.

Narcissa moved forward, stopping a few feet away.

“What did the boy do?”

Draco was still as a statue except for the clenched fist that slowly moved up and outward to chest-height, the fingers slowly opening to reveal the prize inside.

The angry pink half-circle where he’d squeezed it too tightly was vivid on his pale skin.

Narcissa took in a shocked breath as she recognized by the grey diamond that it was a derivative Malfoy signet, granting the wearer partial privileges as betrothed. 

Harry Potter had obviously refused it!

“What did he do?” 

Her voice came rather cold this time.

Draco could almost hear the protective thoughts churning through her mind now. To back out of a negotiated marriage at this late stage was controversial at best, and with Draco’s current level of emotional investment, intolerably cruel.

Draco let his fingers curl protectively over Harry’s ring once again.

“He _protected_ me.” He said, bleakly.

He could feel his mother’s eyes boring into him as he turned his face forward again, and slowly mounted the stairs, his back perfectly straight.

He would at least maintain his dignity.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.

On and on, his polished shoes clicking against the cold marble steps until he reached the third floor and its deep, dark carpets.

Back straight.

Head up.

Eyes forward, focused, completely dry.

Face smooth, expressionless.

Feet sure, sinking into the carpet in precise, measured movements.

His bedroom door.

A white graceful hand laid calmly against the cool grain of the wood, it opened.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

The door slowly swung closed…and clicked shut.

The locking and silencing spells ingrained in the room automatically sliding into place.

And then, only then, Draco Malfoy exploded.

A slashing motion with his wand sent a jagged streak of white light at the fine couch, its imported elven fabric ripping apart in several places as its entire frame was subjected to massive torquing pressures in opposite directions. The splinters flew as the wooden frame gave way under the force, buckling into a pathetic heap on the floor.

A pointing-stab with a slight twist at a mirror and it shattered, followed by another, and another, and another, and another.

A twirl and a flick exploded an ivory dragon figurine he’d cherished since his father had given him to Draco as a reward for some long-forgotten triumph. That wasn’t enough, and his ebony and crystal brothers quickly joined him in tiny pieces on the floor.

The desk received several creative and violent spells, its magically-enriched wood absorbing their power until eventually a simple severing curse broke it cleanly down the middle, the two sides falling away from each other like a newly split cordwood.

Not content with the magical application, Draco took hold of the solid doors of his wardrobe and tugged it forward, willing the sturdy furniture to fall forward and break into pieces.

It didn’t budge, and Draco found himself hurling his shoulder into the heavy oak door, rocking it back against the wall and bouncing back. This time his tug produced results, the massive structure teetering on an edge and slowly…slowly, falling with a crash that shook the room.

Draco barely dodged it, finding the prospect of bodily harm curiously undaunting as the heavy thing loomed over him for that moment before he stumbled to the side, his robes gusting around him with the whoosh of air as the falling thing slammed into the ground inches from where he knelt.

He pounded his fists uselessly against unbroken slab of oak, his blows swallowed up in its bulk with barely even a sound.

The sound that escaped him was not a pitiful cry. It was not a bellow of rage nor a howl of grief.

From deep inside him issued only a barely audible groan that carried every iota of feeling the young Malfoy had ever allowed himself to feel.

Draco stopped pounding the fallen bureau and huddled on the floor, another low moan of anguish escaping his lips. 

This was… _nothing_ he had any preparation for. His knuckles bled, a sharp burning _physical_ pain that meant nothing to him next to the ordeals of his training from childhood.

But this…this groaning anguish in the pit of his stomach, that horrible twisting knot of some new and terrible kind of pain – this was what he had been warned about! He had _known_ , his father had warned him a thousand times about the dangers of forming such attachments outside the family!

But Harry had been safe! Harry _Potter_ was _good_! He could be counted on not to betray him, not to hurt him! 

And oh, how wrong that had been. The stupid Gryffindor had betrayed him where it hurt most in order to protect him from small _physical_ threats!

And now he sat curled up pathetically on the floor, his broken possessions scattered around him, debilitated by a pain he had never contemplated, never learned to resist, never dreamed of facing.

He had severely miscalculated.

 _Always_ , the rule had been, love for family, and only for the family, and never presume on a bond that has not yet been set in magic.

He’d allowed himself develop feelings for Harry.

No. He’d allowed himself to develop feelings for _Potter_.

And he’d done it _before_ the marriage.

Stupid.

Well. _Potter_ had given him this reminder.

His priorities must be to the family.

And now, thanks to Potter’s actions, Draco had the clear mind he would need to make sure that Potter’s entry into that family happened in a way that was beneficial _to the family interests_ , and to _Draco’s_ interests.

Draco slowly stood, ignoring the ruin around him as his eyes scanned the area where what used to be his desk stood.

There.

Stepping carefully around pieces of detritus, Draco retrieved the marriage contract he and Potter had signed.

Potter may have refused the symbolic bond of the ring, but he was still bound by his word.

Draco would hold him to it.

And now that he’d been shaken from cloud of emotions that had paralyzed his self-interest, he would see that the marriage proceeded.

On _his_ terms.

Draco reached a hand into his pocket and allowed his fingers to curl around the spine of the book he’d taken from the Black library.

Slowly he pulled it out, feeling the corner of his mouth tug at the irony of the title.

“Matrimonius et Animus”

Draco ran his finger along the words, chuckling softly.

“Very well, Potter. If our marriage is to take a backseat to your war, then War we shall have.”

 

__

_December 25, 1996_

_Dear Lord Potter,_

_I hope this writing finds you in good health._

_Having given your words today a great deal of thought, I shall acquiesce to your request to forestall any further steps along the lines of courtship until the situation with the Dark Lord is no longer an immediate threat._

_That said, we have signed a legally binding contract for betrothal, and I have no intention of releasing you from it, ever. On the contrary, be warned that I fully intend to force the matter immediately as soon as your ongoing conflict with the Dark Lord is no longer an obstacle._

_Make no mistake, I **do** mean immediately, Potter. We have discussed that our ongoing ritual still requires a Blood sacrifice, which is traditionally integrated into the bonding ceremony itself. As such, I expect to be fully involved in that end-game, and for you to be appropriately conscious and capable of active participation in the ceremony upon the Dark Lord’s demise. _

_I shall be extremely displeased if you allow yourself to be incapacitated, forcing me to find a separate Blood gift to christen our union!_

_With this in mind, I demand as your betrothed full access and input in your training for the final battle, which I am assured will occur before the end of this school year. You **are** training for it, I do hope?_

_In return for this access, I shall continue to provide intelligence from my sources within the Dark Lord’s closest circle of advisors, and keep you aware of my plans to lure him to his death._

_With the highest regards,  
Your future husband,_

_The Lord Draco Malfoy_

 

 

Narcissa’s eyes visibly narrowed when Draco came back down, freshly showered, groomed, changed, and a completely neutral expression on his face.

“Draco. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Draco looked at his mother blankly for a moment. Finally he relented.

“Potter felt that the marriage and any additional courtship should wait until after the current war is concluded.” He informed her.

“He’s afraid you will become a target.” She nodded. “The sentiment is admirable, if misguided.”

“No matter. I have my own plans for our wedding and how the war should end. This new…distance will allow me to give them the appropriate attention, I think.” Draco said calmly.

His mother looked at him with a troubled gaze.

Draco smirked at her.

“Did you expect me to spend the rest of holidays sulking in my room?” he asked, amused.

Narcissa shook her head minutely.

“Well then. I have a meeting to attend mother. Thank you for your concern.” Draco said, moving towards the Floo, powder in hand.

“Island Sanctuary!”

A moment later he was standing before the Dark Lord.

“You have newssss, young Lord Malfoy?” Voldemort asked imperiously.

“Lord Voldemort, I think the time for the marriage is drawing near. We should make appropriate plans.”

“What plansssss are these?”

“The appropriate witnesses and the Blood gift must be present there, and Potter must be made to cooperate. He will not wish to bond with you near, or with his friends in danger. And certainly not if he believes me responsible for their deaths.”

“You suggest an attack?”

“Yes. On Beltaine, as is appropriate.”

“How will you ensssssure Potter’sssss cooperation?”

Draco smirked.

“He won’t refuse. The ritual I have chosen will give him a choice of accepting or destroying the one he most desires.”

“I ssssee…you play a dangerous game, young Lord.”

“I play no games but those I am certain to win, Lord Voldemort.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed at his continued refusal to address him as _his_ Lord, but let it pass.

“And what ritual have you chosssssen for my Heir?”

“It is a hybrid of the old Celtic handfastings ceremony and the Saxxon-Latin Soul-Bond Ritual, using a number of symbolic and potions-based factors to increase the influence of the bond without sacrificing identity.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed even more now.

“Exssssplain thissss…. _influencccce_ you will have over my Heir!”

Draco smirked.

“Well, he won’t be able to keep his hands off me, of course. And we will sense and feed from each other’s emotions. Also, our souls will be irreversibly connected, as is usual for a soul bond. Only, instead of either of us following the other in death our souls would merge into the remaining body. We will have the ability to share power and knowledge.”

Voldemort hissed as he contemplated this.

“And how will you use this to influence him to our side?”

“My opinions and his will slowly merge to a centrepoint between us, weighted by the strength of our convictions. He has only even known of magic for a few years, and his experiences with muggles have been very unpleasant.”

“He hasssss been raised by mugglessssss.”

“Whom he counts among his enemies.” Draco countered.

“Hmm…very well, young Lord Malfoy. Let usssss begin planning thisssss…wedding invassssion.”

 

_  
December 28, 1996_

_Draco,_

_I know you’re angry with me, but it hurts to read something so cold from you. I did what I had to do to keep you safe, you know that. I do love you, that’s why I can’t bear the thought of losing you, too._

_Of course I still want to marry you after the war is over! But we’re best off not thinking about that until I finish what has to be done._

_And I don’t want you being a part of the war, Draco. Please, please if you care for me, hide yourself away – go to the mainland or America and don’t tell anyone where you are, especially me. In order to do this I need to have that dream you’ve given me and know that that’s at least one thing He can never touch._

_Please, Draco? I’m begging you. Stay out of this. I don’t care about the Blood gift, it’s gross anyways. Or, you can find some lousy leftover Death Eater to kill later if you have to satisfy the magic, but I need you safe during the battle._

_I’m still wearing your Talisman. I won’t take it off._

_I look forward to seeing you at school again, even if we have to pretend to be enemies._

_Love,_

_Harry_

 

 

“Draco.”

“Lucius.”

“The Dark Lord told me of your plans. Do you truly intend to bluff Potter into marriage with your life?”

“There is no bluff. Potter would never refuse that choice.”

“You are certain.”

“Definitely.”

“He will resent being forced.”

“I have compensated for his feelings in the ritual.”

“Hybrid marriage rituals are extremely dangerous.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Adding potions and additional symbolic variables verges on madness. Why are you doing this?”

“I am aware of the complexity, and confident.”

“Why do this?”

“The Dark Lord can’t know the full purpose of the spell. He is no Severus, but he knows potions and ritual properties. It must fully exceed his instinctual grasp of the situation or all will be lost.”

“And what of _your_ instinctual grasp?”

“ _I_ have studied every aspect of this ritual specifically. I know what I need to know.”

“And if there are unexpected variables?”

“I expect them to be dealt with.”

“And they shall be.”

“The old man is very powerful, if he cannot be subdued in time...”

“My associates are preparing a…distraction. He will not be so powerful when the time comes.”

“You are aware of how delicate this is.”

“Yes.”

“If I succeed, the Malfoys will become more powerful than any family since the Founders.”

“If _we_ succeed.”

“If we succeed.”

“And Potter will be yours.”

“Very much mine.”

 

_January 1, 1997_

_Dear Lord Potter,_

_I should like to make my opinion clear. While I understand the personal neurosys that motivated your decision, and recognize them as part of the idiotic Gryffindor mentality that is a part of you, I nevertheless view that mentality and the decision as idiotic._

_I will most certainly not relinquish my proper place at your side in battle in order to create an escapist mental image of some paradise of safety for you! Killing off some insignificant Death Eater who is not even a serious threat would most certainly not be satisfactory for purposes of a High Ritual such as Heirloom, Magic, Blood!_

_I will be an active participant in the end of this war, and this is not something you will change my mind on._

_Your suggestion of my not returning to Hogwarts is equally preposterous and, to be quite frank, comes off as rather hysterical. I suggest you make use of a Calming Potion and cease your useless fretting. Your time would be better spent in training._

_You have not answered my demands regarding your training._

_We should discuss ideal dates for the wedding. I believe the most magically beneficial time for such a strong union as ours would be Beltaine. My father may be able to influence the Dark Lord to enable a confrontation that will fit with our wedding plans, so this is something that should be taken carefully into account._

_Please let me know your thoughts._

_Your future husband,  
Lord Draco Malfoy  
_

 

“Draco, is there anything else you can tell me?”

“About what?”

“About Potter. About the Dark Lord. About this bloody war and who’s going to win it?”

“I think I’ve told you enough about Potter for you to get some idea of his level of power.”

“And the Dark Lord?”

“Did you know his father was a muggle?”

“That’s impossible!”

“My father has seen his grave. Just an ordinary muggle who got caught by a lonely witch’s Amortentia brew.”

“But that’d make the Dark Lord a…a…”

“A Half-Blood.”

“Maybe he was really a Squib.”

“It’s possible. He doesn’t seem inclined to test the strength of his breeding blood, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t bothered with taking a wife.”

“He’s the Dark Lord. Maybe he doesn’t like sex.”

“He’s the Heir of Slytherin. Not liking sex is not an excuse for failing to produce a blooded Heir.”

“Maybe he can’t. There have been rumors that Dark Magic-”

“You don’t seriously give that old Ministry propaganda weight, do you? You’ve come into contact with Dark artifacts just as I have, you know very well they have the opposite effect.”

“But maybe too much of it-”

“Please.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

“I can’t. It’s one of those things about the Dark Lord that is suspicious but not conclusive.”

“You think his blood is weak, and he’s afraid to expose himself by producing Squibs.”

“I haven’t made any conclusions. I’ve just noted the fact that he hasn’t bothered with a very basic obligation on every blooded Heir to reproduce.”

“So what about the war?”

“What about it?”

“You know what I mean. Potter might have better blood, and even be a rival for power, or much more powerful if he comes of age. But who do you think will really win? Can you even really make a prediction?”

“I certainly can if I can influence the outcome.”

“And?”

“And my side will win, without doubt.”

“And if I don’t choose correctly?”

“You’ll lose everything. Quite possibly your life.”

“How long?”

“Before the end of the year.”

“The fiscal year?”

“Before summer.”

“Merlin.”

__

_January 3, 1997_

_Draco,_

_Are you mental!? You want to try to plan Voldemort’s next big raid around our ideal wedding date?!_

_If you show up at the battle, I’ll be distracted trying to protect you._

_Well. If you really have to come to Hogwarts, then I guess you can help train me. You probably know a lot of spells I should be prepared for anyways._

_But I’m serious about the battle. If I have to body-bind you and leave you tied up somewhere I will._

_I’ll see you in a couple days on the train. Don’t forget to be your usual hateful self where people can see us._

_Harry  
_

 

“Well, well, look what we have here? If it isn’t Saint Potter and his pathetic little friends!” Draco sneered.

“Sod off, ferret! Nobody wants you here.” Ron growled.

Draco ignored him, focusing in on Harry.

“What’s the matter, Potty? Kneazle got your tongue? I bet that twisted half-breed Granger keeps around has quite a talent for kinky bestiality games! Well, Potter? Is that it? A bit sore from swapping furballs?”

The Slytherins watching snickered maliciously.

Draco smirked. He knew very well that Harry’s lips were swollen from swapping something a bit different from furballs…and certainly not with the half-Kneazle.

Ron brandished his wand and started vigorously defending his de-facto girlfriend’s honor with a string of epithets. Some of them in Egyptian and Russian, Draco noticed, impressed. Clearly his older brothers had been teaching him something.

Draco ignored him.

“Potty likes kitty, hey? Maybe you should trade notes with that old squib caretaker, huh? I bet old Filch knows some tricks that make Mrs. Norris yowl like a werecat!” he continued.

Ron’s face was turning dangerously red, Draco noticed. Clearly Arthur’s youngest had been chafing at the enforced friendliness between them for the past few months, and was method-acting this little scene to the hilt.

“Get the fuck out of here, ferret! Or I’ll turn you into a, into a little white rat!”

“Really, ‘ _Ronald_ ’,” Draco let his first name drip with sarcasm, since he had no choice but to use it anyways, “we both know you’re not capable of transfiguring moss into a mouse, much less a Malfoy into a small rodent.”

That did it. Ron broke from Granger’s warning grasp and drew his wand in a fury.

“I’ll get you! Stupify!”

Draco blocked and sent a stiletto curse at Ron’s shoulder, letting Jaime’s feigned attempt to pull him out of the way of Ron’s curse seem to throw his aim so it wasn’t fatal.

Granger’s wand was suddenly out and pointed at Draco, no doubt some obscure curse she’d read in a book somewhere on the tip of her tongue.

Harry Potter, who had been watching this byplay rather helplessly was suddenly looming large, the air crackling with his magic.

“ENOUGH!” He shouted, the magic somehow twisting his voice into a deep and powerful bellow that shook the corridor in a way that wasn’t caused by the movement of the train.

The Slytherins, except for Draco, shrank back under the invisible weight of that power. Draco could feel the pressure too, like Potter’s power was pushing out from his body, pushing the air forward so that it _leaned_ against him.

Draco leaned _into_ it, reveling in the crackling strength that he could practically taste as it threatened to ruin his hair with static discharge.

“What’s the matter, Potter? _Scared_ Draco sneered, secretly hoping that Harry would grab him by the lapels of the muggle suit he was wearing and _shake_ him…and then snog the holy fuck out of him.

Harry considered him, the big green eyes swirling hypnotically to swallow him up.

Instead he just shook his head in dismissal.

“You wish. Get out of here, Malfoy.”

Draco didn’t move, staring into those swirling orbs until Jamie gently pulled him along with the other Slytherins in a tactical retreat.

“Did you _feel_ that?” Blaise was breathing hard from the pressure of Potter’s magic on his lungs.

“He didn’t even have a _wand_!” Pansy gasped in agreement.

At that, Blaise turned his head and met Draco’s eyes, shock and terror in his eyes. Draco gave him a tiny solemn nod. Blaise would have to choose soon.


	26. Calm Before the Storm

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

“Reducto! Muffliato!”

“Protego! Tarantallegra!”

“Confrigo! Alecto Fodius! Finite!”

“Protego! Diffindo!”

“Protego! Defodio!”

“Ow! Reducto!”

“Protego! Petrificus Totalus!”

“Protego! Incarcerous!”

“Repellus! Reducto! Incendio!” 

“Protego totalus! Langlock! Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous!”

A moment later Ron was grinning down at him maliciously.

Draco groaned, his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, his body immobilized, and he was tightly bound with magical ropes.

“Very nicely done, my boy.” Dumbledore cheered. “Now what did you learn from that?”

“I guess combinations are the only real way to fight anybody who knows anything.” Harry said slowly.

“Precisely, my boy! But not just any combination. What were some good combinations in that match?”

“Well the last one…he couldn’t undo the Langlock in time to avoid the Petrificus, and then he was vulnerable to the bodybind.” Potter said.

“Yes my boy. What else?”

“Um…Reducto and Muffliato…I had to concentrate on blocking the dangerous one but that left me with buzzing in my ears that distracted me for the rest of the match.”

“Yes, yes. Can you think of another reason why those were a good combination?”

“Um. They’re different kinds of spells?”

“Besides having different effects, Reducto is a straight-line targeting spell, while Muffliato is a general-effect spell, yes. Though of course the latter isn’t wise if you’ve allies in the vicinity.”

“And… Alecto Fodius and Confrigo.” Potter said. 

“Yes, that was another example, except instead of a general effect he placed a repeater node on the ground next to you and fired the stinging spell at it, so you’d have an attack from another direction for the duration of the match. He also practiced wise prioritization by first forcing your concentration on the stronger charm, then slipping in the nuisance spell behind it, and then dealing with your nuisance spell.”

“But I still won!”

“That you did, my boy. Why was that? What was Mr. Malfoy’s mistake?”

“Um…he used Reducto and Incendio as a combination.”

“And why was that an error?”

“They’re both high-energy forceful spells, and Incendio requires your wand to point down after until the flames are gone so they can’t be bounced back at the caster.”

“Why do you suppose Mr. Malfoy would do that?”

“Um. He probably thought I wouldn’t know the variation of the shield charm to handle them both at once without tying up my wand?”

“Quite likely…most would not learn the totalis variation anywhere near your age, my boy.”

“So he underestimated me.” Potter said smugly.

“I’d say so. As usual.”

Draco grunted furiously at that, and Ron beamed at him.

“I suppose you’d better untie young Mr. Malfoy now.” Dumbledore suggested.

“Aww, do we have to? I kind of like him like this!” Ron chuckled.

Draco growled at him.

“Finite incatatem.” Potter said, and Draco was mobile again.

He rolled his neck from side to side before nailing Ron with an evil glare.

Ron just shrugged.

“Anything to add, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco paused a moment, then nodded.

“Yes. You need to improve your reflexes. You remained on the defensive for far too long, and your first offensive spell was a nuisance spell that didn’t interfere with my ability to cast. You can’t give your opponent time to think, and you can’t let them sit there and batter your shields without forcing them to expend energy on shields of their own. And you need more variety in your spells.”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

“We’ll be working on those. I’ve designed a series of exercises that will enhance your reflexes, my boy. We need you to have a spell ready to your lips whenever a wand is raised against you. And not the same spell every time. And yes, I think it’s time you began learning some custom-modified offensive spells as well.”

“Custom modified?”

“Hexes that not everybody knows. Or unusual modifications of common jinxes.” Draco explained.

“I’ll be giving you a book to read before our next lesson, I’ll expect you to choose five spells from it and be capable of casting them on a moments notice, without fail, at our next session.” Dumbledore said. “For now though, let’s start planning some spell-combinations making the best use of the hexes you already know. Each spell in the combination should insure that you’ll have time to cast the next.”

“So keep them off-balance, on the defensive.” Harry summed up.

“Exactly. Now, Mr. Malfoy, why don’t you move on over there so you too can go again. Now Harry, I want to see more _strategic_ combinations from you this time.”

 

Two hours later Draco was black and blue, and more tired than he’d ever been.

He followed Dumbledore, Potter, and Ron out of the Room of Requirement, then then down several staircases, but snagged Potter’s arm before he could head towards Gryffindor Tower.

“What?”

“Wait a minute. I need your help with something.”

“Harry, mate? You coming?”

“Go on without me, Ron.”

“Mate, I thought you were going to back off the whole…thing.” Ron said, looking from Draco to Potter.

“I’m not going to impinge on Potter’s virtue, Ron. We just need to talk.”

“Fine. See you don’t, Malfoy.”

Potter sighed as Ron walked off.

“What is it Draco?”

Draco held a finger to his lips and led him to the dungeons.

“Have your Cloak?”

Potter nodded, slipping it out of his pocket and putting it over his head.

Draco led him into Slytherin dorms, and then to his private room.

Potter pulled the Cloak off and was looking around the room with considerable interest.

“Funny, I’ve seen you naked, but I’ve never been in your room before.” He commented.

“This isn’t my room. It’s just Hogwarts.” Draco said dismissively, kneeling before his trunk.

Potter seemed taken aback by the distinction.

“Oh. It’s…always been the only real home I ever knew.”

Draco paused, turning to look at the boy. His eyes softened at the sad look on his face.

“You’ll have a real home with me.” He said softly.

Potter blushed, his eyelashes fluttering, but there was definitely a spark of happiness there.

Draco turned back to his trunk and, with a careful application of wand and magic, disarmed the various traps and opened it.

“So…what did you want to talk about?”

“I need your help, Potter.”

Potter looked pained.

“With what?”

Draco pulled out several solid gold plates, about the width of a hand and the length of a forearm, very thin, and covered in a spiderwork of etchings.

“Fixing these. I don’t have the power levels needed to regenerate some of the components.”

“I don’t know anything about metalwork. What are they, anyways?”

“They are part of a larger artifact...very advanced magic. It’s…it’s part of my plan so we can get married, okay?”

“What does it do?”

“It’s connected to another artifact, in another location. Trust me on this, we need them both working. They’re part of my plan to ensure the Dark Lord will never bother us again.”

“Draco, I’m not _ready_ to kill him.”

“Potter, I _know_ that. We’re working on it. And you’ll be ready sooner than you think. But first I have to get these things in working order.”

“I don’t understand. Why can’t you just tell me what they do?”

Draco looked into Potter’s pretty green eyes, allowing some emotion to show in his own eyes as he gazed into his fiance’s face.

 

“Potter. Trust me, okay? I need these working, and it’s very complicated. But everything I’m doing is to help you, so that we can get married as soon as possible. When the time comes, you’ll understand. But until then, I need you to trust me.”

Potter looked into his eyes for a while, then smiled slightly.

“Okay. I’ll help you. What do you need?”

“The spell is ‘sino ostium’. You’ll just need to tap your wand to the target, the plate.”

Potter frowned.

“That sounds extremely simple. Why can’t you do it?”

“I’m not an heir of one of the Founders.”

“This is a Founder’s relic?”

“No, it’s not nearly that old. But for it to work inside the castle it has to be compatible with the castle’s magic.” Draco explained.

“Oh. Okay, then.”

Potter performed the spell, causing the runes on each panel to glow slightly.

“Is that it?”

“Yes. No. Wait. There’s also this.”

Draco pulled Potter into a kiss, feeling that raw magic burning against him once again…strange that he’d been craving the uncomfortable sensation…as Potter’s tongue dueled with his.

Soon they pulled apart, panting for breath.

“Draco. I told you, we can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“I _told_ you why!”

“We’re in my room, I assure you none of the Slytherins can penetrate my privacy wards.”

Draco moved in again only to pushed back.

“No, Draco.” Potter said firmly. “You’ll just have to wait until I’m strong enough, and defeat the Dark Lord. Things like this are just…you _know_ we’re connected? I see into his head sometimes, by accident, I don’t know if he sees into mine. But I won’t take the risk of him seeing… _this_!”

Draco growled. He knew what the connection was, he’d studied it extensively in Potter’s scroll, and the chances of the Dark Lord seeing into his mind while he was awake were slim. Still, no way to explain that to Potter, was there?

He pushed Potter towards the door.

“Fine then. But don’t think I’m going to sit around and wait for Dumbledore’s timetable. I have plans of my own and _you’re_ going to be a part of them whether you’re ready or not!” he fumed.

“Draco…I…”

“Just _go_ before I decide to have you now, anyways.” Draco sneered.

Potter’s eyes widened, and he backed slowly towards the door.

“Oh, _do_ remember your Cloak, Potter.”

Potter blushed and hastily disappeared. The door slammed and Potter was gone.

Draco turned to the gold etchings, carefully wrapping them in silk coverings before placing them together into a protective box. After shrinking the box he placed it in his pocket and headed out of his room.

This time, as he entered the Room of Requirement, there were no mats or training dummies. Instead, a maze of shelves, assorted junk, and, near one wall, a half-repaired Vanishing Cabinet.

Draco hummed slightly under his breath as he enlarged the box full of etched plates, carefully fitting the first into its slot on the Cabinet’s heavy black frame.

 

_  
February 19, 1997_

_Dear Arthur,_

_It seems that this spell will not allow me to write your proper title for a formal invitation. I apologize and hope you do not feel slighted in any way._

_As you are aware, as Lord of Malfoy I have recently procured the agreement of Lord Potter for a marriage contract between myself, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter. As you are now extremely close to each of us, your absence at this union would be most inappropriate. This extends also to your wife and children, as well._

_As you know, I have initiated an Heirloom, Magic, Blood sequence as the form of courtship, and the Blood gift has yet to be completed. As is traditional in this type of magical bonding, it is likely that the conclusion of the courtship ritual, and the marriage itself, will take place at the crux of battle._

_To ensure your attendance at the moment of union, I have enclosed a series of what I am informed are a highly prized Muggle jewelry known as “anklets” made of hemp. Each of these has been charmed as an event-triggered portkey that will carry the wearer to a vantage point where they can witness events without becoming involved in the battle._

_I trust that the members of your household will be impressed with the importance of wearing the portkeys at all times, and of discretion regarding their purpose._

_I look forward as ever to our next meeting,_

_Your Friend,_

_The Lord Draco Malfoy  
_

 

Blaise and Pansy arrived at exactly the appointed time. Draco nodded approvingly.

“Zabini, Parkinson.”

The two nodded respectfully as they were ushered into his room.

Draco carefully locked the door before setting several additional privacy wards.

“It seems my efforts have finally paid off, with regards to Potter.” Draco told them.

“And which efforts would those be?” Blaise asked, his eyes glinting interest.

Draco smirked.

“I know who he’s betrothed to.”

Pansy clapped her hands in glee.

“Oooh, Draco! You’re simply wonderful! Think of what we could _do_ with that kind of information!” she cooed.

Draco stepped back from her.

“Actually, I already have my plans.” He said coolly.

“I’m sure you didn’t bring us in here _solely_ to gloat. Are you going to tell us?” Blaise asked mildly.

Draco considered him.

“Yes. On condition.”

“What?”

“I’ve a contract, magically self-enforcing as an Unbreakable Vow. You won’t tell anyone else, or use the information in any way without informing me first and gaining my approval.”

The two sat a moment considering it.

Finally Blaise stood up.

“Very well. I’ll take it. I need the information.”

Draco nodded approvingly. This would finally be a way to give Blaise the information he needed to choose the winning side without any risk to Draco by revealing it.

“Parkinson?”

Pansy was quick to follow Blaise’s lead.

“It’s too important to not know.” She said.

Draco smirked. He’d been hoping for that. The _Beneficium Superus_ loophole still required Notice to the other family, but his barristers had dug into the law and found that such Notice need not be public, and could be given to the promised party herself rather than to the head of the family to be legally sufficient.

Minutes later, Jaimie had finished her role as bonder and stepped out of the room to find her Gryffindor friends.

“So…who’s the lucky one to get Potter?” Pansy smirked with anticipation.

Draco smiled enigmatically.

They both leaned forward…

“The Lord Harry Potter is being courted by none other than…” Draco paused dramatically, “The Lord Draco Malfoy.”

Pansy let out a gasp, her hands covering her mouth in horror as her eyes grew huge in shocked disbelief.

“Are you serious?” Blaise asked, stunned.

Pansy gave a little laugh then.

“Oh, Draco, you really had me! But who is it, really?” she asked.

Draco looked at her calmly, then at Blaise.

“I’m completely serious. Under the doctrine of _Beneficium Superus_ , the contract between the Malfoy and Parkinson families for the marriage of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson was voided. As of today, Notice is served within the acceptable limits, as consummation of the royal union has not yet been completed.”

Pansy’s face was white.

“But…Draco…we’ve always been friends, I shouldn’t have to look for a suitor at this late date! Why would you put me in this position after how long we’ve known each other?” she protested.

“It _is_ Potter, Pansy.”

She chuckled mirthlessly.

“Oh, don’t I know it. You’ve wanted him for years but I never thought you would actually…oh Merlin, this is _really_ inconvenient timing, Draco.”

Draco smiled tightly at her.

“I apologize. You would have made a good wife, Pansy. But…well…it _is_ Harry Potter.” He shrugged elegantly.

Pansy smiled weakly.

“At least there’s no shame in losing out to Beneficium Superus.”

“Indeed not. But, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to actively seek a new husband until after Potter and I are wed.” Draco said.

“That’s why the Unbreakable Vow.” She said, chagrinned. “I understand, it’d make it pretty obvious who was courting Potter.”

“Unless you plan to talk to Blaise, here.” Draco suggested slyly.

Blaise looked at her uncertainly. 

The boy was a notorious ladies man, he’d never had any liaison that even hinted at a marriage contract, and most parents were sufficiently wary of his mother’s influence to avoid approaching the wealthy Heir for a betrothal agreement.

Pansy was gazing at Blaise speculatively, however.

“You know, that may be amenable. You’re nearly as close a friend as Draco, and certainly good looking, good magic levels, rich, pureblooded, and not too closely related.” She mused thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should talk?”

 

_  
April 1, 1997_

_Lucius,_

_Please inform the family attorneys that Notice has been given to Pansy Parkinson, but is shielded from disclosure or unauthorized reactive action by an Unbreakable Vow._

_I would also appreciate if you would inform our Honoured Guest that I have secured the necessary ingredients to ensure your friends’ warm welcome to their new home, which will be appropriately furnished by Beltaine._

_I ask that you ensure that the special arrangements with respect to family business we have discussed continue to be handled with utmost delicacy and effort by all involved._

_I look forward to reviewing the fruits of your considerable contributions in the near future._

_Your son,_

_The Lord Draco Malfoy  
_

 

“Silencio” Draco whispered, before very carefully opening the door just a crack.

Warm steam billowed out into his face, and Draco cast a quick charm to prevent the cold air outside the room from streaming in and giving him away.

The sound of water sloshing around beyond the fog made him draw his lips back in anticipation.

He noiselessly slipped through the door, shutting it silently behind him. A locking spell for good measure.

Then he moved carefully sideways, stalking the naked boy he knew would be bathing in the middle of the spacious room.

Harry Potter had his back to him as he removed the last of his clothing, the pale globes of his un-tanned bottom flashing briefly before Potter slipped into the water, grunting as the scalding water enveloped him.

Draco felt the discomfort of a paintful throb in his already-hard member as Potter let out a long, low sigh, stretching out his long body underneath the suds as he leaned back against the edge of the bath, his back to Draco.

Draco sucked in his breath and edged closer to the reclining boy, his nostrils full of the wild scents of the soapy potions that enhanced Potter’s natural pheremones. This was getting out of control. Potter was on the other side of the room and Draco was a panting mess.

Potter sighed again, and this time Draco saw his shoulders bunching just slightly as his arms moved under the water… _doing what_?

He moved closer, staring at the sudsy water as if it were one of Trelawney’s mystical pools, trying to pierce to the treasures he _knew_ were hidden underneath.

A surface ripple revealed Potter’s torso for just a second and he saw that Potter was touching his own chest, fingers moving across the sculpted skin in an absent-minded pattern.

Draco watched, spellbound, as Potter slouched lower in the water, leaning his head back to half-float in the water, the movements of his hands broadening as he clearly started to stroke his body for the full length of his torso.

Draco nearly groaned aloud, and quickly cast a nonverbal privacy charm on himself.

Then Potter groaned, low in his throat, and this time Draco did join in with a groan of his own, his imagination spinning with images of what Potter’s hand had just encountered down there.

_This will be mine._

The water was still quiet, Potter’s hand was still only lightly caressing himself, and Draco felt a sudden need to be a part of what was happening.

He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the water, whispering a charm that had served him well in his early adolescence.

Potter’s hands moved away from his crotch as certain parts became extremely sensitive, then he sighed as knots of current began to swirl against him like vague caresses.

Draco kept his wand pointed at the water, his magical energy feeding the localized maelstrom that was forming around Potter’s straining member, leaving barely a ripple on the surface of the water.

His eyes, trained intently on the top of Potter’s head, and the curve of his jaw that he could see, and the delicious curve of his neck and just part of one shoulder…watching for any tension, any reaction.

Potter sighed again, clearly enjoying the subtle aqueous massage he was receiving, and Draco suddenly felt the heat in the room multiply tenfold, a burning sensation coming to him through his wand, up his arm, and into what he knew was his magical core.

Potter’s magic had recognized his.

Before Draco could halt the stream of his magic powering the spell he felt a sudden tug along the spell’s line of force, and his magic was pouring out of him more strongly, feeding the spell and something _else_ down there. 

Suddenly Potter’s eyes had opened and he was _looking_ at him, looking hungrier than any beast Draco had ever imagined.

Then the encouraging tug on his magic became a suddenly greedy _demand_ and the line of force was suddenly a visible line of silvery-blue energy crackling between his wand and the water, and Potter was dragged to the middle of the bath, frothing water swirling powerfully around him and his green eyes burning furiously into Draco as he _ate his magic_.

“Please…” Draco whimpered, feeling weak as the drain on his core intensified again, the powerful beast that was Potter’s magical core demanding a stronger taste of his magic.

Potter’s hungry eyes suddenly turned to some other emotion, Draco couldn’t tell what it was, but Potter raised his hands to reach towards Draco, his face straining with the effort to concentrate despite the sensations below his waist and the anger and the _lust_.

Draco gasped as the greedy tugging on his magic jerked at him again, feeling like it would rip his core out of his body.

Then…a rich green glow appeared around Potter’s hands, his insane, raw, powerful magic there, visible, and Draco reached desperately for it.

Then it struck him.

Like lightning.

Draco screamed as Potter’s intense magic burned into his body, plunging angrily into his core and slicing through every nerve he never knew he possessed.

And then he heard Potter let out a roar as he finally came, surge upon surge of his magic firing into Draco in pulses, and Draco found himself collapsing on the floor under the waves of Potter’s magic, exploding in his own pants with each pulse…and then Potter was climbing out of the choppy bathwater, crawling naked towards where Draco had collapsed, dripping water and suds on him as he frantically separated Draco’s burnt hand from his wand.

Draco could see him, in all his glory, naked and flushed and anger and terror and concern flashing across his face as he hovered anxiously over Draco, snapping his fingers in front of eyes that were frozen, staring upwards at the ceiling.

Then the buzzing in his ears faded and he could hear words between sobs.

“I’m sorry Draco…please, _please_ don’t be dead…I can’t stand it if you…oh god…what’s _wrong_ with you I told you to stay away from me!...No, no I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me…oh god, it’s too late, I shouldn’t have let you get so close…everyone I...everyone I love…”

Draco felt a buzzing _snap_ as his core rebalanced itself, and he could look down to where Potter’s head of sopping-wet hair (still somehow looking like a ludicrous mess) was huddled miserably on his chest, Potter pressing his face desperately into Draco’s stomach as he cried.

“Potter…” Draco croaked, and Potter’s head shot up and he was suddenly on Draco, kissing him feverishly across his face.

“…could I get some water…?”

“Yes! Yes! Anything you need!”

Potter summoned his wand and conjured a glass of water for him, complete with a crinkly-looking straw which he held tenderly to Draco’s mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“That…hurt.”

“Was that…what was that?”

“That was…a very, very foolish thing for me to do. God, Potter, if you weren’t so powerful I’d be dead or a squib right now.” Draco gasped.

How could he have been so completely mindless?

Potter clutched him tightly.

“But what was that?”

“It was an assymetrical energy exchange, resulting from a unilateral sexual event between two magically attuned but unbonded cores.” Draco said, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was still dizzy and definitely shaken from the near-catastrophe.

“In English?”

Draco managed a smirk at that.

“You were in the bath, and…touching yourself, so I used a spell I know to make the water touch you too. It’s a progressive spell, so I have to keep feeding it. Like Leviosia. But then your magic recognized my magical signature…and, of course our cores are always hungry for each other now. Normally we’re both doing things to each other, and close enough to touch, so we feed off each other at the same time – balancing each other. But this was one-way.”

“I was draining you.” Potter said, horrified.

“Yes. Any other couple this would have been a tragic headline in the Prophet. You were able to save me…somehow…without a wand. You gave me some of your magic in return. A lot of it.”

Draco could still feel Potter’s magic in his core. That part of him no longer felt like a perfectly chiseled bedrock of ice, but like rich soup of acidic power, with sharp spikes sticking out in precisely geometric patterns.

Potter shivered.

“I think I swallowed a lot of yours, too. It feels…cold.”

Draco nodded as he sat up, gingerly.

“It would. It’s very old magic.”

“So was this what you were worried about? With the bonding?” Potter asked tentatively.

Draco looked at him sharply.

“To some extent. Those last few seconds were something similar to a bonding. But it was off-center because we were separated and it was in only one-direction. _That_ was dangerous. When you sent your magic to me it…it was intense but I could handle it.”

Draco found himself blushing painfully as he realized this was his opportunity to reassure Potter about their eventual ceremony.

“I…um…actually reached climax without touching myself.”

“You did?” Potter asked, his nostrils flaring with interest, eyeing Draco’s trousers speculatively.

Draco pushed him away.

“No you don’t. I’m dead tired and should see my godfather about my wand-hand, so keep yours to yourself, pervert.”

Potter’s eyes suddenly narrowed.

“Wait a minute. What were you doing in the Prefects Bath?”

“I happen to _be_ a Prefect, Potter. Unlike yourself, I might add.”

Potter winced at the use of his last name.

“Excuse me. But what were you doing sneaking in here _while I was bathing_?”

Draco smirked.

“I haven’t seen you properly naked since the Chastity Spell, so I decided to have another look.”

Potter gaped at him.

“Why you…you can’t _do_ that!”

“Oh? I believe I just _did_.” Draco said smugly.

“Draco,”

“Potter,”

Potter winced again.

“I really wish you’d go back to calling me Harry.”

Draco looked at him.

“You wanted me to back off.”

“Yes but…not like that.”

Draco looked at him blankly.

Potter sighed.

“I don’t know what I mean either. It just feels so wrong.”

Draco reached out to touch his face briefly before pulling his hand quickly back to his own lap.

“I think it may be better this way. For now. You know my views on this kind of connection. It was…unprecedented of me to let you get so close to me. Without a blood or magical bond, first. Unprecedented for centuries of Malfoys. And for good reason.”

“What do you mean?” Potter asked quickly, grabbing Draco’s hand and pressing it against his cheek again, green eyes huge and expressive.

Draco sighed, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of Harry’s eyelash fluttering next to his thumb for a moment before recovering his hand once again.

“Malfoy has survived many centuries of wizarding politics, wizarding intrigue, wizarding wars. This foolish rule you’ve invented for yourself, that everyone who you love will die because of you, holds a grain of truth. The Malfoy’s have a more accurate version. ‘Attachment breeds dependency, dependency spawns vulnerability, and the unguarded vulnerability will be the first target of your enemies.’”

“That just sounds like Voldemort saying love is a weakness.” Potter objected, frowning.

“No. It’s different. You didn’t notice the qualifier in the last link of that chain.”

“Huh?”

“ _Unguarded_ vulnerability, Potter. The moral of the maxim is that fully attaching yourself to things or people before placing them fully under your protection only makes them a target for your enemies.”

“So you only let yourself care for someone until after you’ve married them.”

“Yes. If we had done this properly, our sexual enjoyment would be mere samplings of each others bodies and magic. Our interactions, a series of strategies to continually evaluate what the attachment _will_ be, _when_ we are wed.”

“Draco…”

Draco shook his head.

“What you said at Grimmauld reminded me…and…I should have held firm. I…I shouldn’t have given in to your Muggle romanticism. _Potter._ That way of doing things is for a different world, for different people.”

“Draco…don’t say that.” Potter said sadly, moving closer to Draco.

“Malfoy.” Draco said.

“What? No…”

“We have to, Potter. We’ve gone too far, we have to pull back. We have been acting as if we were married in private, and it _shows_ in public, Potter! All the teachers have noticed, didn’t you know? It’s only a matter of time before the rumors start. Potter, _neither_ of us can protect the other.”

“You said Voldemort already knows anyways!” Potter said defiantly.

“He knows I’m _courting_ you! Not that you _matter_ to me, Potter! And forget the Dark Lord! Do you know how many Light families would love to get revenge on a Malfoy? Do you know how many others would withdraw their support in the war if they knew? And what about my Aunt Bella – she’d torture me and send you a howler of me screaming for the fun of it.”

Potter was silent.

“You were right, Potter. Not completely, but yes, we do need to back off. Don’t we?”

Potter refused to answer.

Draco seized his jaw with his hands and squeezed slightly.

“Tell me I’m right.”

“Yes. You’re right.” Potter ground out, defeat in his voice.

Draco ground down the pain that rose up hearing him so listless, forcing himself to savor his victory.

“You’ll address me by my last name, Potter.”

“Yes.” Potter lowered his eyes.

“Yes what?” Draco squeezed harder.

“Yes I will, Malfoy.” Potter said, his voice raw with loneliness.

“And when the time comes, we will be wed, and you will be _mine_ , and we’ll call each other whatever we want.” Draco whispered fiercely.

Potter’s dull eyes rose to meet his, a small flicker of hope somewhere in their depths.

Draco met his eyes.

“When the time comes.”

“Yes.” Potter whispered. “Yes, Malfoy, when the time comes.”

Draco kissed him then, harshly, his teeth clashing against Potter’s pretty lips and drawing blood.

Then he rose to his feet, spun on his heel, and strode to the door, leaving the miserable Gryffindor sitting naked on the tiled floor behind him.

He paused a moment as a pathetic sob broke from the boy’s throat.

“Till then, Potter.” He commented.

Another sob.

Then the faint whisper.

“Till then, Malfoy.”

Draco stepped outside.

“Only till Beltaine.” He muttered to himself, locking the door behind him.


	27. Betrayal for Blood

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron demanded as soon as he entered the Room of Requirement.

Draco leaned casually against a haphazardously stacked shelf as he inspected the two Gryffindors.

“I’ve been calling you by your first name nearly this entire year, surely you could do me the same courtesy by now?” he said calmly.

“Be thankful I’m not calling you Ferret.” Ron grunted.

“Ron! Be nice!” Granger scolded the redhead, then turned to Draco.

“What was it you wanted our help with? I’m assuming it has something to do with Harry.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in approval at her perceptiveness.

“Doesn’t it always? Yes. It’s a surprise for him. I’ve been preparing it since holidays, and now it’s ready.”

Ron looked around the maze of junk skeptically.

“You been hiding something in here, Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged.

“This is what appears when you ask the Room for somewhere to hide things in. Apparently it’s been a popular request over the years.”

Granger’s eyes narrowed craftily.

“To think of all the historically significant diaries…”

“Four aisles to your left, take a right, go two stacks down and take another right, they’ll be on your left at the end of the row.” Draco told her.

“They will?”

“Hundreds of them, the Room was even so kind as to arrange them in chronological order starting in the present and going back to the original Hogwarts class.”

Granger gaped at him for a second.

Draco just smirked at her. 

She looked about to run over and start filling her arms with books when Ron grabbed her arm.

“What about this surprise for Harry?”

Draco’s smirk widened into a grin as he surreptitiously drew his wand.

“Oh. The surprise? It’s just – Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy!”

The two Gryffindors hit the dusty floor at almost the same time, Draco congratulated himself.

“Despite our history, it’s nothing personal, you understand. But the two of you are distractions that Potter and I simply don’t need at such a crucial time.” Draco observed quietly as he walked over to inspect them.

He took careful note of their measurements…how long were the arms, the legs, how large the heads and how tall…before he tapped his wand in his palm and cast the additional spells on their inert forms.

Satisfied with the fate of the two Gryffindors, Draco began chanting the ritual that would cleanse the core of his wand in anticipation of the next ritual he would need to perform that night.

The cleansing finished, Draco pulled several more items from their temporary hiding place. 

Inside a book, magically held inside a picture in a page, was the silver bonding knife he’d startled his father with. 

From behind a tattered tapestry he withdrew the silk sheath that had held the Crystal Sceptre for generations, before he had given it to Potter. 

From an impressively warded jewelry-box came the remaining scrap of the very length of ribbon that had formed the heart of the protective Talisman he’d created for Potter in this very room.

And finally…Draco gingerly removed from an insignificant-looking chest a plain brown canvas bag, a relic Draco had had tailored according to the oldest traditions he could find. It was traditionally used to present the head of the enemy being given as a Blood gift.

Draco set the bag on the floor and opened it, then stepped back, glaring at it in distaste.

There was no escaping it. Rituals as ancient of Heirloom, Magic, Blood _had_ to be followed to the letter, or there could be serious consequences.

Sighing, Draco picked up the silver knife, wrapping the silk and the ribbon around its handle, and moved forward.

 

 

_  
April 30, 1997_

_Auntie Bella,_

_It is time._

_D  
_

 

 

Draco held his breath as the Vanishing Cabinet glowed with a strange dark light, the gold etched runes sending out strange patterns of shadow and deeper shadow on the floor in the space Draco had cleared around the device.

It would work. He knew it would.

The glowing stopped, and the small door swung slowly open.

Fenrir Greyback stepped through, his teeth gleaming viciously.

Draco stared at him incredulously. Bellatrix had brought _Greyback_ to a school full of children?

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Ahhhh, my favorite little Lord! The powerful, glorious, _delicious_ Draco Malfoy!” Fenrir leered insolently at him, leaning forward into Draco’s personal space to take a deep sniff. 

Draco raised his wand. 

Fenrir laughed.

“All the pretty little kiddies and the yummiest one has to be soooo hard-to-get.” He licked his lips lasciviously.

“You are out of place here, werewolf.” Draco sneered at him. “This is to be a royal wedding party, not a blood raid. Get back in the Cabinet.”

“Ooooh, but royal wedding parties _are_ blood raids!” Fenrir said, enthusiastically. “Pretty, pretty blood, little children’s blood, oooh, how I love weddings with all the young ones all scrubbed and fresh and innocent and dressed up so nice!”

“It’s _my_ royal wedding. And you’re most emphatically _not invited_.” Draco snapped. “Now _back_ in the Cabinet.”

“Oooh, but that wouldn’t be nice! Bella and the others are coming through soon! We’ll have such fun! Mmmmm, Draco let me have one nice little bite before you bond…just one, nice, delicious little taste?” 

Fenrir sidled up to him and… _licked the side of his face_!

Draco spun around and hit him with a bludgeoning hex that threw the werewolf into a shelf, knocking it down.

“Oooooh, _feisty_! I love it when they fight!” Fenrir giggled, back on his feet, and Draco raised his wand defensively as something nastier than usual shone in his eyes.

He stopped, though, sniffing the air experimentally. Then he turned to Draco.

“I smell…there are _others_ in here! More children! Where are they?” he demanded eagerly, licking his lips as he cast about trying to locate the scent of Ron and Hermione.

The Cabinet started glowing again, and Draco knew his aunt would be through in moments.

Well. Fenrir really didn’t belong on this mission, the Dark Lord would just have to accept the loss.

“Avada Kadavra!”

Bellatrix stepped out of the Cabinet just in time to see the green light hit Fenrir squarely in the back.

Draco turned to his aunt.

“I have a feeling you don’t quite understand the purpose of this mission.” He said sourly.

“Ooohh, Drakie-pooh, don’t be cross with your Auntie Bella! But why’d Drakie have to kill the pretty werewolf? Auntie Bella liked the werewolf?” Bellatrix pouted.

“Bellatrix, I have a title and I expect it to be used in a formal situation such as this one.” Draco snapped. “I killed the werewolf because first he had the temerity to touch my person in an inappropriate fashion, and then he caught the scent of a school full of children and was about to jeopardize the mission by going hunting prematurely. You had no business taking him on a mission this delicate.”

“Did you say you finally killed that disgusting creature?” Lucius asked mildly, stepping out of the Cabinet.

Draco nodded briefly, before turning back to his Aunt.

“Now, if you could please act appropriately, let me remind you that the Blood sacrifice has been arranged, and my father and I will be disposing of Dumbledore momentarily ourselves. The rest of you are here only to disable the castle wards from the inside, _without_ any confrontations of _any kind_. Do I make myself clear?”

Bellatrix nodded sharply, all business for the moment. Draco shook his head. She’d be giggling insanely within an hour. Hopefully not at an inconvenient time.

As Bellatrix organized her team, Draco nodded to Lucius before picking up the canvas bag and its contents with one hand, and the bonding knife in the other.

“Is it done?” he asked.

Draco just nodded, handing the heavy bag to his father before pocketing the knife.

Draco raised his wand and cast a glamour, then a notice-me-not charm on the bag before turning to leave the room.

“I think it’s time for us to see to the old man.”

 

When they arrived at Dumbledore’s office Lucius moved off under a disillusionment charm as Draco interrogated Jamie, who’d been staking out the office entrance most of the day.

“Did you get to hear the password?”

“It’s twizzlers.”

“What in Merlin’s name is a a twizzlers?”

Jamie instantly produced a piece of red wax, visibly twisted, about the length and width of a wand.

“What’s this?”

“They’re like licorice, only strawberry-flavored!” Jamie enthused, biting off a piece.

“Jamie, did you go _in_ to the Headmaster’s office?”

She nodded.

“He called me in after I’d been here about five minutes.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed in concern.

“Did you tell him why you were here?”

“I didn’t say anything, but he just called me in, told me that his password was “Twizzlers”, and then offered me some.”

So. The Headmaster had clearly deduced that she was there to discover his password, and accommodated it. Draco wondered if this meant the old coot had some inkling of his intentions. Surely not.

“Well, thank you Jamie. Are you wearing your portkey?”

Jamie showed him the anklet resting against the top edge of her shoe.

“Good. I want you to go lock yourself into your dorm room. There will be some violence before the bonding and you will not be involved. Understand?”

“Sure, Draco! I can’t wait to see you and Harry get married!”

“Bonded.” Draco corrected. “Just see that you do wait. In your room. No matter what.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now get on out of here.” He said, looking after her fondly as she scampered away.

“And keep your shoulders straight!” he called after her.

Lucius appeared out of the shadows at his right side.

“She is learning quite well. I expect we can start looking for potential alliances for her rather soon.” He observed.

Draco grimaced.

“I doubt either she or Lord Black will consent to an arranged marriage.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Both raised by Muggles, remember?”

“Oh. Of course. Well, Potter seems quite adaptable to this arranged marriage.”

“Potter was the one getting to accept his own proposal, which was something he’d always wished for anyways. Trust me, I know him quite well. He’ll never sign a betrothal contract for Jamie. He’ll let her choose someone on her own.”

“That makes things difficult. We’ll have to insure that she meets only the right sort of suitors. Perhaps Severus can be of help as well, once we settle on an optimal husband for her.”

“Better not let Potter hearing you talk about Amortentia. He’s had his own share of close calls with that particular brew.” Draco warned his father.

Lucius nodded, then inclined his head towards the gargoyle.

“Shall we?”

“Twizzlers.” Draco said, and the gargoyle leapt to the side.

“Draco, my boy. How can I help you?” The headmaster asked, looking straight at Lucius as he came in.

“I wanted to let you know I’m planning to bond with Potter tonight.” Draco informed him. “I hope you have your portkey?”

“Of course, my boy. But why is your father here?”

“He’s family. And unfortunately, he is here to help me overpower you, sir.” Draco said calmly.

“Overpower?”

Lucius withdrew from his robes a small yellow orb, and tossed it onto the headmaster’s desk.

“This is an anti-magic field generator. One of the things some of the Death Eaters were able to steal from the Department of Mysteries last year.” Lucius informed him. “I’m afraid at the moment we are all temporarily squibs.”

Dumbledore frowned.

“I see. And what is the intention behind this power play?”

“You’re an unpredictable variable in a delicate situation.” Draco told him. “So I’m removing you.”

The old man reached for his wand with incredible swiftness, and cast a very forceful Expelliarmus at them, only to see a few sparks emit from his wand.

Lucius pulled out a small pistol and aimed it at the Headmaster.

“I’m going to have to ask you to put that down.” He said calmly, before handing a pair of handcuffs to Draco.

Draco came forward and carefully handcuffed the Headmaster to his desk before backing away.

“The stone will keep your phoenix from entering the office, and wand-magic is useless inside this room. With the door magically locked, you’ll be in here until the portkey activates – and then it will be far too late for you to intervene.”

“No need. The bond is irreversible. You’re old. After tonight there will be no real longterm threat to the House of Potter-Malfoy.” Draco sneered.

With that the two Malfoys removed themselves from the office, casting several highly specialized and obscure locking charms on the door before leaving the entrance.

“I asked Potter to meet me by Greenhouse Five. You should signal the others to begin the assault in about fifteen minutes.”

Lucius nodded once before spinning on his heel, walking down towards the dungeons.

 

Draco reached the greenhouses with time to spare, walking over to the agreed-on spot and looking around for his betrothed, who had to be hiding under his Invisibility Cloak somewhere.

“Potter? Where are you?”

“Here, Dr-…Malfoy.” Potter said from right next to him.

Draco jumped and whirled around.

“Why do you have to slink around in that thing! You’d think you were a Slytherin yourself!”

“Maybe I should have been.”

“Look I…well…what I said before. I’ve hated waiting like this. Malfoys are very impatient people, you know.”

“I might have noticed something like that.”

Draco approached Harry’s disembodied head and reached towards where he knew his waist would be.

“I’m tired of waiting.”

“Look Dra-, Malfoy. I thought we had agreed it was too dangerous.”

“I know. But soon, Potter. So soon.”

Harry sighed.

“We’re no where near ready to take down Voldemort, Draco. There are things you don’t know. Things that have to be done _first_ , or he’d just come back again.”

“We’ll find a way.” Draco argued, snaking a hand around Potter to cradle his lower back in his hands, pulling him subtly toward himself. “Potter, if there was a way, to get it over with and get married right away, would you do it?”

Potter groaned, his own hands slipping around Draco.

“Yes, you know I would. But it’s just not that simple.”

Draco leaned in, tasting the strong magic just barely reaching out to his own.

“I can’t wait much longer, Potter. I want you. My magic wants yours. And you and your magic want me too. You know it.” He spoke into Potter’s ear, reveling in the way the boy shivered under his breath on his neck.

This powerful, beautiful boy would be his by dawn.

Then Potter let out a sudden yell, and stumbled in Draco’s arms, hissing in pain, a hand clamped to his forehead.

“Potter! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Draco demanded, fully suspecting the cause.

“He’s here…” Potter hissed, and suddenly there was an explosion somewhere across the Hogwarts grounds, and students were suddenly running everywhere, the words “Death Eaters” being shouted frantically.

“Potter! Can you stand?” Draco asked urgently.

Potter nodded, and stood, taking his hand from his forehead.

The scar was leaking blood, which was smeared across his face.

“Bloody soul link.” Draco growled under his breath, annoyed.

“Can you fight?”

Potter nodded, drawing his wand.

“Can you?” he asked.

Draco drew his own in answer.

“You’re invulnerable to most curses. But if you get hit my magic gets weakened. Keep that in mind, please.” Draco reminded him.

Potter just nodded, a hand going up to touch the Talisman under his shirt.

“Let’s go.”

The two walked side-by-side, only inches apart, into the open grounds. A small cadre of DA students had formed a small defensive knot, holding their own effectively against the first probes by the Death Eaters.

“The castle.” Draco murmered to Potter. “Younger students.”

“Teachers.” Potter replied.

“Should be out here. Aurors can’t apparate. Time.” Draco said.

Potter gave a short nod.

“DA members, get into the castle! Guard the younger students!” he shouted at the DA members.

There was a brief scramble as they recognized Potter’s voice and moved to obey, hesitating slightly as they saw that Draco was Potter’s companion.

Still, in short order the grounds were cleared of students, and teachers were quickly taking defensive positions across the grounds.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, get inside the castle!” McGonagal ordered them tensely.

“Professor, I should be out here – he’s here for me, I can’t just hide inside!”

“ _Inside_ , Mr. Potter.” McGonagal said sternly.

Potter opened his mouth to object but Draco dragged him off towards the castle.

“What are you doing? I thought you were ready to fight!”

“Fight the battles we can actually win, Potter.” Draco said, pulling them off behind Hagrid’s hut and shoving Potter to the ground, “You weren’t going to convince her. Wait until things are too crazy to argue about who gets to fight.”

“So what, we just sit here and wait for the Death Eaters to show up?”

“I don’t think it will be long.” Draco grimaced.

As if to prove his point, there was suddenly a much louder explosion, much nearer, and the teachers could be heard chanting counterspells and curses in return.

“Now!”

It was a very different Hogwarts grounds they saw from the one less than a minute ago.

Smoke from various explosions and spell side-effects hazed the air, and the formerly crisp battle lines had become a series of sudden swirls of anonymous robes with spells flashing towards and away from each, in seemingly every direction.

“They’re everywhere!” Potter shouted as a Death Eater suddenly appeared behind them and tried shooting a bright red hex at them. Draco blocked the spell while Harry issued a fast Stupify at their attacker.

Draco grabbed Potter’s shoulder, leaving his wand-arm free to move, and turned him so that they stood back to back. Then he spoke over his shoulder.

“Think of it as dancing. You always face the direction I’m not facing, watch my back and I watch yours. So when I do this-”

Draco took a large step to his left and pivoted counterclockwise, sweeping his vision from right to left as he turned, disarming a Death Eater as he turned.

He pulled on Potter’s shoulder, and Potter thankfully took the hint, turning counterclockwise himself to cover the area Draco had turned his back on and Stupifying another enemy as he pivoted and stepped to his left, bringing himself once again back-to-back with Draco.

They stood back-to-back again, and Draco this time stepped to his right, going in the same direction as they’d gone before, pivoting counterclockwise. No new targets. Potter followed, and had to banish a random monster the Dark Lord had brought as part of his army.

Back-to-back, perfectly still but full of adrenaline.

Draco issued more instructions.

“Good, we can move, and keep changing our field of vision so we don’t miss new targets coming in range this way. And keep ourselves moving so they can’t fix on us as quickly. As long as we aren’t repetitive. So now we change lead. You first, Potter.”

Potter hesitated only a second before stepping swiftly to his right, Draco’s left, pivoting clockwise. Draco moved smoothly with him so that their fields of vision were perfectly aligned in opposite directions during the entire move, barely an inch of space coming between their bodies during the entire procedure.

“Now we turn inverse to each other. Be wary of blocking each other, we should be close and slightly to the side. Put your hand on my waist and look over my shoulder as we turn.” Draco said breathlessly. 

This was a maneuver he’d only ever seen his father and mother accomplish, and he’d been wanting to dance this way with Potter since he’d first tasted his magic that first day under the Invisibility Cloak.

Potter obeyed, they turned, catching each other in almost a waltz position, and Draco shivered as he felt the singe of a spell flying past his ear – Potter casting a powerful Expelliarmus at a Death Eater that had appeared behind him.

“Good, those are enough to start with. Now we combine them.” Draco whispered into Potter’s ear. The other boy nodded, and Draco quickly stepped to the right, whirling around with an ugly slashing spell as Potter incanted something behind him, then Potter’s hand made that slight tug at his robes and Draco followed, pivoting in the opposite direction, no Death Eaters, so he transfigured a blade of grass to glass and enchanted it to fly around stabbing any Dark Mark it could find.

Another spin, and Draco took the lead again, putting them in that face-to-face position he preferred, spinning them around that way a few times until he got to feel the powerful roar of Potter’s magic traveling inches from his ear again.

All the time, moving ever farther into the thick of things. Draco guided them towards where he knew the Dark Lord would be, leaving a trail of wounded and dying Death Eaters in their wake. 

And many more enchanted glass shards, which found their marks in the ranks their own spells hadn’t touched yet.

Then Bellatrix was there, with Lucius next to her, and the horrible red streak of Crucio was flying towards them, Potter stepping in front of Draco to take the terrible curse…

And Draco was suddenly on the ground, gasping, feeling his magic draining as Potter let out only the smallest groan of pain, the majority of the curse deflected.

Draco was on his knees, trying to catch his breath, his body feeling weak and useless with the magic that had sustained him his entire life suddenly stripped away entirely.

Potter standing before him, larger than life, stance wide, wand out, firing spells over Draco’s head at Bellatrix.

“Expelliarmus!” 

“Domare Ilixa Inuito!”

“Protego Horribilis! Reducto! Muffliato!”

“Protego! Sectusempra!”

“Protego! Everte Statum! Alecto Fodius!”

“Glacius! Crucio!”

Harry sidestepped the Unforgivable, not missing a beat.

“Diffindo! Langlock! Petrificus Totalus! Stupify!”

Bellatrix didn’t reply to that, so Draco assumed Potter’s combination had worked.

Potter was quickly on his knees before Draco, cupping his face in his hands and examining him anxiously.

“Are you okay? Oh my god, why did you have to create something like that for me? I could have borne Cruciatus, I have before!” Potter said, distressed, trying to massage Draco’s face into answering.

“I’ll be okay…just need a minute…” Draco whispered hoarsely.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Potter promised.

The vow was met with hissing laughter.

And then Draco saw him over Potter’s shoulder. The Dark Lord, approaching, stepping over Bellatrix as if she wasn’t there.

Potter started to turn, but Draco latched on to him, holding him fast.

“He’s here!” Potter whispered furiously to him, half crouched, pulling backwards, trying to turn around.

Draco held him firm, a strong hand on his wand arm. And then Draco reached out…and took Potter’s wand out of his hand.

Potter stared at him, dumbstruck.

“I’m sorry. It has to be this way.” Draco told him. And pushed him backwards into Nagini’s coils.

“Draco?” Potter asked, unbelieviningly, his eyes staring up at Draco with complete betrayal in them.

Draco looked away from him, unable to meet those eyes.

“I promise, this is for your own good Harry.”

The Dark Lord laughed his horrible, hissing laugh again and Draco looked up at the snake-like figure.

“Well done, very well done, my young Lord Malfoy. Has Dumbledore also been disposed of?”

“They’ll find him in the morning, my Lord. His office is securely locked.” Lucius assured him.

A low moan came from Potter at this news.

“Excellent, then we may begin! Young Lord Malfoy, is the Blood gift prepared to be presented?” the Dark Lord demanded.

Draco nodded, and looked to his father.

Lucius nodded and produced the canvas bag, the dark stain of blood clearly visible seeping through its bottom.

Draco crossed to his father and took the bag, turning to face Harry.

Nagini shifted, her coils holding Potter up to face Draco directly.

Draco bowed to the Dark Lord, then to Potter.

“In conclusion of our ritual, I offer you the Blood gift – my wand shall ever serve to bring about the deaths of the enemies of your house, be they wizard, muggle, or squib.”

Potter was openly sobbing now, refusing to look at Draco.

Draco approached, and slid the bag to rest immediately in front of the boy.

“Look on your Blood gift from your Husband, Potter.” He commanded sternly.

Potter refused to look at the bag or at him.

Draco reached forward and gently, carefully, put his hand under Potter’s chin. Tears wetting his palm as he softly stroked his cheek with his fingers.

Tipping the chin up, up, so the beautifully tragic green eyes met his own.

“Why?” Potter asked him.

“Look at your gift.” Draco whispered back.

“Why, Draco? I…I loved you. Why would you…just…why?” tears, falling down his cheeks. Draco tenderly wiped them away.

Draco pulled out Granger and Ron’s wands, tossing to the ground at Potter’s feet.

Potter’s eyes followed the movement, widening as he recognized the wands, then moving on to the indistinct shapes in the head-bag.

“No! Not them, please not them. Draco? Why are you doing this? We were going to be married! I thought you wanted to be together!” Potter pleaded, eyes desperate.

“We are going to be married.” Draco told him confidently. “I told you. Royal marriages are bloody.”

“But why?”

Draco leaned forward and grasped Potter’s hair in his hand, pulling it back from his bloody forehead, squeezing it in his fist and jerking Potter’s face towards him, away from the wands on the grass, face to face, inches apart.

“Because you have other connections that are _in the way_! Malfoys _don’t share_ , Potter. We _will_ bond, no one else will have anything even _close_ to our connection with you!” He snarled in his face, then released his hair.

“Now. Look at your Blood gift, Potter.”

Potter swallowed, looking down at the lumpy canvas bag.

Draco knelt before him, and raised the bag to Potter’s face…and then slowly, opened it to his gaze.

Potter’s big green eyes widened in shock at the disturbing objects inside, and Draco leaned in to whisper to him.

“Scream for me, Harry.”

Harry looked up at him, a thousand emotions spinning through those eyes, opened his mouth, and screamed.


	28. Battlefield Marriage

As Potter screamed, Voldemort laughed his low, hissing cackle that spread out along the ground like a carpet of fog, chilling the bones.

Draco ignored the Dark Lord’s amusement as he carefully closed the bag, tying the drawstring shut.

That done, he stood upright and looked down at the struggling Harry Potter.

“Time to say your vows, Potter.” Draco smirked.

Potter’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you _insane_ , Malfoy? You think I’m just going to…just…just… _cooperate_ just like _that_?” he growled sexily.

“Of course you will. Because you’re in _love_ with me, Potter.” Draco sneered.

Potter glared at him dangerously.

“Maybe that was a mistake, _Malfoy_.”

“Oh on the contrary, I think it was the most fortunate thing you’ve ever done.” Draco said.

“Divesto.”

Potter’s clothes peeled slowly from his body, revealing more and more of that endless tan skin.

Bellatrix giggled from somewhere behind Draco and he cast an irritated glance at her, then a blurring charm at Potter’s genitals. He’d be damned if the Death Eaters were going to ogle what was his.

The charm didn’t affect Draco’s sight, of course. Sadly, Potter was clearly not enjoying what was happening so far.

That would have to change.

Draco stepped forward until he was standing between Potter’s splayed legs.

“The thing is, Potter, no matter how you might try to pretend otherwise, you _want_ me.” Draco said conversationally as he unbuttoned his robes. He was naked underneath, as Potter would soon discover. “I don’t need your verbal agreement. The magic demands only _intent_.”

Draco gave Potter one last smirk before he shrugged out of the robe, his own manhood hanging heavy and semi-erect in anticipation.

“Draco…please, not like this!” Potter started to beg, struggling against Nagini.

Draco kneeled between his legs and stroked his thigh soothingly.

“Shhh, I know it’s strange. But a powerful Dark Lord doesn’t come into being under a lace canopy, Potter. You are immensely powerful, and you are the Heir of two Founders. Any but the most powerful bonding ceremonies would be…unstable. And as powerful as you are, you wouldn’t be able to prevent yourself from turning me into…something less than I am.” Draco said calmly.

Potter stopped struggling for a moment.

“What…what do you mean?” he asked, weakly.

“Power, Potter. You can talk about Light and Dark all you like, but in the end it comes down to Power, and those who are too weak to see it. You have… _far_ too much of it to keep track of on your own. You’ll soon find things… _happening_ …around you. Things that always seem to go your way. _People_ that always seem to see things as you want them to.” 

Draco ran his fingers up Potter’s long, strong legs, then leaned forward to kiss him on the inside of his left thigh, just above the knee.

Potter sighed momentarily, then caught himself.

“What…I’m not like that. I wouldn’t…control people like that.”

His voice was on edge, his entire body tensed and straining in anticipation of where Draco’s lips would touch next.

Draco leaned forward and kissed the other thigh, a couple of inches higher this time, using his full mouth this time so his warm breath would burn Potter’s flesh, which bore goosebumps from the night air.

“Ah! Please, just _talk_ to me, Draco! I need to…need to understand!”

Draco leaned forward and spoke into the juncture of Potter’s thigh, his breath carrying into his pubic hairs around his scrotum.

“Then listen, Potter. There’s a reason for rituals like this. For blood-soaked royal marriages. Power like yours wants to be used. Until you are very old you will never have complete control over it. And anyone who is not of similar power cannot even see the effects of your power, let alone counter it. And when they get close to you, they will come under your influence, and find themselves acting out your wishes.”

As he spoke into the curly hair between Potter’s legs, Draco watched Potter’s penis moving…slowly…reluctantly…rising an inch with each heartbeat and falling a half-inch…rising and falling…tipping ponderously over to rest on Potter’s other thigh, hovering there on each heartbeat and coming down to rest farther along on an arc from the inside of his thigh…up the tops of his thigh…to point sideways along his hip…and then finally take its proud place pointing upwards towards Potter’s chin, bouncing an inch above his stomach.

Draco moved forward again, ghosting the tip of his nose at Potter’s balls, up the length of his now very excited manhood, until his lips hovered just over the end of it, magic crackling dangerously between their skin.

Potter was squirming deliciously now, barely able to move in Nagini’s secure hold on his wrists and ankles.

Draco paused for a long moment, looking up at Potter’s face with a wicked look on his face before he spoke directly at Potter’s bouncing penis.

“If you wish any role on me but the eager servitude of a house-elf, we must be bound in a way that will prevent that Power from undermining our relationship as equals.”

“And will this- AH!”

Potter screamed as Draco swallowed his erection, his entire body going rigid as Potter’s magic slammed into his skull from the point of contact.

The magic was surging and Draco could feel that Potter, already, was nearly on the edge of an orgasm. He backed off quickly.

Potter was gasping for breath, and Draco found that he was breathing hard himself, his own manhood jutting out, painfully hard.

“Will you be my husband tonight, Potter?”

Potter looked down at him, flushed with arousal and remaining fury for his duplicity, an eye flickering towards the closed bag behind him for a second.

“ _Potter_ ”

Potter snarled wordlessly at him.

Draco shrugged, crawling forward to straddle the stubborn Gryffindor.

Potter’s erection, slimy with pre-ejaculate, nudged into the crack of his butt behind him.

Draco let his legs slide up Potter’s sides, feeling his body shudder and his magic burn into his thighs, then leant down so they were face to face.

“I want you. You want me. This way we can be a family.” He said simply.

Potter got a very strange look on his face in reaction to the phrase, somewhere between confusion and amusement and absolute horror.

“ _What_?” he sputtered.

Draco leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Do this? Do you want me?”

Potter’s green eyes stared up into his for a long moment. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“I do…”

Nodding once in return, Draco accioed the tiny bonding knife from his pile of clothing and carefully cut the binding runes into his skin, just above the left hipbone.

Your magic will enter me through your seed. A blood pathway will channel my magic to you.”

Potter hissed as Draco cut the receptive version of the binding rune into the mirroring spot above his right hipbone.

“These will be magical scars, connecting us forever.” He told him as he finished the cut.

“Transanguis.”

His blood started dripping…falling sideways irrespective of gravity, each drop landing on Potter’s rune and seeping inside.

Potter groaned with pleasure, and Draco felt the pull on his magical core as Potter started drinking in his magic.

Draco leaned back then, carefully aligning Potter’s penis with his own entrance, hissing at the stretching and the burning as that most intimate of all possible contacts caused Potter’s magic to rush powerfully into his own core.

“Let me free, Draco.”

Draco considered him for a moment, then pointed his wand down at him, judging carefully.

“It’ll take an Unforgivable, Potter. Are you condoning Dark Magic?”

“Do it!”

Draco nudged Potter's wand into his hand.

"Nagini is the one holding you, not me. You'll need to do it, Potter. One little Unforgivable Curse. Can you bend your Gryffindor morals enough to finish the job?"

Potter hesitated, the wand in his hand.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters were leaning forward to catch every whispered word of Potter's seduction.

A slow nod and Potter gripped the wand carefully, pointing it at the snake.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Potter was suddenly free from Nagini’s coils, and the Dark Lord was screaming in rage behind them as Potter quickly rolled so Draco was splayed under him, legs open and wrapped around him, his manhood still poised at the entrance.

Hexes flew at them, hitting Potter in the back, and Draco felt his magic pulled into the Talisman to form a powerful shield.

“Matrimonius extremis.” Draco managed to incant, just before… _Harry_ …began pushing foward.

“Ohhhhhhhhh…” Harry moaned as he slid smoothly into Draco, and Draco echoed it with a gasp of his own.

“Oh, Harry…yessssss!” Draco moaned, the pulsing length of hard flesh was burning his insides with magic and he felt swollen and full and burning with inner fire and Harry, Harry, Harry on top of him and Harry’s smell around him and Harry’s power racing through him, and Harry’s wonderful manhood buried deep, deep inside him.

The hexes were lost in a powerful haze of overwhelming magic, Harry’s magic and Draco’s magic combining into an incredibly strong, incredibly sophisticated series of shields around them as they completed the ritual.

Draco’s legs squeezed his husband and his hands clutched desperately at his shoulders, his torso, the sides of his head as Harry moved in and his mouth was devouring Draco’s mouth and he was _moving_ inside in long, circular thrusts until all the burning was intensified with _that_ feeling and Draco felt his mind caving in as Harry’s length touched _that spot_ again, and _again_!

“Oh Harry! Please, don’t stop! Take me and make me yours!”

Something Dark sparked in Harry’s green eyes and he started moving more authoritatively inside Draco, his hands clutching Draco’s wrists possessively.

“MINE!” he growled.

“YES! Yours, all yours! And you mine!”

Harry lowered his face to rake his teeth over Draco’s exposed throat, humming something guttural from deep in his chest before his teeth worked their way up to chew on his ear.

“Yes, I’m yours too, Draco.” He whispered softly.

Then he gave one more hard thrust and Draco felt the universe disappear, sound sucked out of the world like a massive Silencio as Harry’s face moved back in slow motion to make eye contact, those big, impossibly green eyes widening as Harry’s body trembled with the force of his orgasm, his length expanding and jerking inside Draco as Harry’s seed and Harry’s magic spewed from his member deep into Draco. Magic exploding around them as they both shuddered and silently screamed their climax.

Harry collapsed on top of Draco, still inside him, and Draco felt the universe right itself again as the waves of pleasure receded.

He felt warm, balanced, his magical core enriched by the incredible infusion of his husband’s raw strength held in the intricate latticework of centuries-old Malfoy magic…and the liquid heat of unfathomable Founders magic running like capillaries through the whole structure.

“Harry. We have to finish the ritual.” He pushed at his husbands shoulder. Harry groaned in protest. “Harry, _move_!”

“That wasn’t all? I thought we were married now!”

“We are. I mean the other ritual. You have to accept your Blood gift and…finish it.”

Harry groaned and staggered to his feet, pulling Draco up beside him.

The two stared at the area around them.

A large section of the Forbidden Forest had been leveled by the magical shockwave. 

Death Eaters in groups sprawled senseless around them. 

Several hundred yards away a small group of people were running towards them…Dumbledore the lead. The Portkeyed wedding guests.

But there, not far from them, the Dark Lord lay dazed on the ground.

Draco snatched up his robe and threw it on before moving to the head-bag and removing the glamour of blood from the outside of it. He brought it over to where Voldemort lay, wheezing for breath, his body blackened and burnt from the exposure to such powerful Love magic.

He opened the bag and took out a small locket, a gash opening a hole in the center where the tiny bonding knife had pierced it. He dropped it in front of the stunned Dark Lord.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.”

He walked around the Dark Lord and dropped the remains of the diary near his feet.

“Born to those who have thrice defied him.”

He withdrew a ring ewith a cracked stone and tossed it in the quadrant above the Dark Lord’s splayed arm.

“Born as the seventh month dies.”

The diadem, in the quadrant opposite it, below the Dark Lord’s other arm.

“And the Dark Lord will mark him as an equal” 

The cup, above the same arm.

“But he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not.”

Draco dragged the body of Nagini over and placed it in the remaining quadrant.

“And either must die by the hand of the other.”

Draco beckoned to his now-dressed husband and pulled him to stand over Voldemort, Draco behind him, wrapping his husband’s fingers around the hilt of the bonding knife, guiding his hand to the Dark Lord’s quivering throat.

He smirked at the Dark Lord over his husband’s shoulder as he delivered the true final line of the prophecy into Harry’s ear.

“For neither can live while the other survives.”

One smooth cut across the jugular vein, dark-magic-transformed blood, a sick black fluid, shooting out in an obscene geyser, and it was done.

Dumbledore arrived then, surveying the scene of the concluded ritual.

“That was a very dangerous thing to attempt, Mr. Malfoy.”

“That would be Malfoy-Potter, now.” Draco said smugly. “And it worked.”

“Indeed it did.”

Ron and Granger were next, hugging Harry exuberantly while sending evil looks in Draco’s direction. 

He shrugged. They’d get over it. They’d have to. Harry’s hand was still tightly holding his own, giving him a brief squeeze now and then, despite seeming to give his friends his full attention.

He realized he was wearing an extremely undignified grin on his face, and quickly corrected the oversight before anyone noticed.

Then Molly Weasley found him.

“Draco Malfoy! Shame on you putting yourself and Harry in danger that way! Why, you’re practically _children_! Now, no protests this time, I won’t have you wasting away after an ordeal like that. Magical displays like that take a lot out of you, young man. You’re coming straight to my kitchen to eat a proper meal.” She scolded him, somehow grabbing Ron’s ear instead of Draco’s to make her point.

“Mooom! Why are you punishing me? I wasn’t even there!” Ron howled.

Molly seemed to notice she’d grabbed the wrong ear and let go, advancing towards Draco, maternal instinct and some primal menace in every line of her body.

“That’s fine, Molly, I’m quite hungry actually. Harry and I would be happy to have lunch with you.” Draco said placatingly, while edging away, pulling his husband along.

“Well, very well then, let’s just be off then.” Molly said, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the subtle retreat. “I won’t have any of your silly notions of-”

“Blood traitor! Sectumsempra!” Bellatrix shrieked.

Draco reeled as his back was suddenly flayed open by the spell.

The last he saw was Harry’s horrified face turning towards his aunt in absolute fury, and the thunderous magic blasting over his shoulder as his husband cast the killing curse in his defense.

Then Draco’s vision was dimming as he slumped to his knees, registering that Harry’s face was so close and sweet up close as he was grasped by the shoulders, panicked voices raised as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	29. Aftermath

Avada Kedavra!” Harry screamed, a powerful bolt of green light blasting from his wand.

Then that same furious face was inches away, like a looming planet, and for the first time he noticed the green eyes were the same shade as the killing curse.

“Don’t you die, you bastard. I won’t lose you!” Harry whispered fiercely, arms coming around Draco to lay him carefully on his stomach.

There was a flash of blue light and Harry straightened up, his kneeling legs straddling Draco as he erected a powerful shield over them both.

His skin felt the cool night air as Harry cut away the back of his robes.

“I can’t heal this! I don’t know the magic to reverse it!” he said, panicked.

A bolt of red slammed into the shield and Harry’s voice made Draco shiver as he cast a borderline Dark spell at the attacker.

“Not…Dark…Harry.” Draco wheezed painfully into the ground.

Harry leaned down, careful to keep from brushing against Draco’s flayed back.

“I’ll protect you Draco. They won’t harm you!”

Another attack, and Harry’s reply was an even more powerful borderline spell.

His body was wracked with pain as he coughed convulsively, spitting up dark blood into the grass.

“Hurts…”

The splashes of salty water on his back…tears?...stung in the wounds and Draco could feel his grip on reality slipping away.

“Sev’rus…can help. Harry. Please?”

The world was dimming…

“Dark…not Dark…my Harry…”

 

__

_Draco’s dreams landed him at Hogwarts. A different, darker Hogwarts._

_A portrait of Dumbledore, the frame gelded with what appeared to be various sweets, carefully and artfully arranged. But dusty, and moved to a forgotten corner of the school, the figure inside hunched in defeat, the twinkle dimmed as Dumbledore gazed sadly out at the seldom-used hallway._

_Professor McGonagall, her back set ramrod straight, some self-conflicted outrage in every line of her body as she marched two anonymous students down the hall to the Transfiguration classroom._

_“You know the rules. Your opinions about Lord Potter should be kept to yourself within these walls. You’ll be having detention with me, every evening, for the next month.”_

_“But Professor! It’s true! He may have killed him but he only took his place! He probably didn’t even plan to kill him in the first place, if his husband hadn’t-”_

_“That’s _enough_ Mr. Longbottom!” McGonagall snapped. “As I said, you should keep your opinions to yourself _within these walls_! Do you understand?”_

_Silence._

_“Now. Detention is an extremely mild form of punishment for potentially…treasonous…remarks like those. Since I’ll not have it said of me that I am lax in punishing attitudes that are so flagrantly inappropriate, you will spend this time working on an extremely painful branch of Transfigurations research. I doubt that the two of you will manage to become Animagi in that time, but hopefully a month of _strenuous_ and _painful_ exercises will teach the two of you a _lesson_. About how _not_ to anger Lord Potter, of course. Are we understood?” McGonagall lectured sternly._

_Draco had to admire her use of subtext. Almost a Slytherin, that one._

_But if the Head of Gryffindor was reduced to using such indirect forms of heroism, what had become of Slytherin?_

_Draco wandered to the dungeons._

_Severus Snape swirled his cape like a monstrous bat as he entered his office. Not so different after all. Draco subtly followed._

_Adult versions of Pansy and Blaise Zabini were waiting for the professor._

_“And what news do you have for our Lord?” Severus purred ominously._

_“It was unanimous. The vampire clans of lower Europe will join, and in return for feeding rights and two seats on the Counsel of Powers they will grant the dark Gift to our Lord and his husband as requested.” Pansy informed him._

_Severus turned to Blaise._

_“And what of his husband, Zabini? Do you think Draco will go along with this plan?”_

_“He has always tried to hold Lord Potter back from anything Dark. I think he will resist the idea. But in the end he’ll do whatever he must to keep his husband.” Zabini told him._

_“That was my own appraisal. Anything to add, Mrs. Zabini?”_

_“Draco is very vain, and vampires are known for their sensual beauty. If Lord Potter is turned first, he will find it easy to seduce Draco to the idea. He would never be able to live with being somehow unworthy of his husband, it’s been a sore point for him since they were eleven years old.” Pansy suggested. “If Lord Potter is turned, and attracts vampiric suitors, Draco will do what he must to counter the threat of competition.”_

_“Very well. I will inform our Lord so. See that you continue to stamp out Draco’s little band of resistance fighters. Our Lord is fond enough of his husband to indulge his childish games but he will not stand for similar defiance from others. As always I expect to be kept apprised of your progress with that situation.?” Severus said, dismissing them._

_Draco followed them out, making his way to the Headmaster’s office._

_What he found shocked him._

_The desk, the knickknacks, the magical gadgets and gizmos were gone._

_Instead, a massive bed in deep killing-curse green silk._

_And an older version of himself was spread out upon it, passed out, clearly having been recently fucked into the mattress._

_“I’ve been waiting for you.”_

_Or perhaps not passed out after all._

_“You can see me?” Draco asked himself._

_“Of course I can. I’ve been where you are. I remember everything but our conversation. I hope that means I can change the past, somehow.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“Don’t you? You ended up keeping your promise to the Dark Lord after all. Despite everything you did to avoid it afterwards.”_

_“What did I do? The Talisman only lasted until he was vanquished…”_

_“The Talisman? You think a trinket turned Harry into the new Dark Lord?”_

_“No…not Harry…”_

_“Words, you fool. Words from us. From you, not ten minutes ago if I remember right.”_

_“What did I…”_

_“One little Unforgiveable Curse. Remember?” the older Draco sneered weakly. “But it wasn’t just one, was it? After the first one, the second is so much easier. A split soul is attuned to the Dark, you stupid, stupid fool.”_

_Draco felt the words hit him like a blow to the stomach._

_“What can I do?”_

_“Well you could try undoing it. Tell him you don’t want him to turn Dark.”_

_“You think it’d work?”_

_“No. It didn’t work. It’s not enough, as you can see. It’s too addictive. Too easy. You’ll have to think of something else.”_

_“Can I really change it?”_

_“This conversation is different from the one I had. So you have to be able to change it.”_

_“What kind of conversation did you have?”_

_The other Draco turned his head away._

_“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t enough. I should have known from the second dream. Stupid. You’ll have to find a way on your own. And you have to do it as soon as you wake up. Don’t wait until you’re comfortable being fucked every night. Don’t wait until you can tell yourself this was just a stupid dream.”_

_“Isn’t it? I’m not a Seer…”_

_“You are now, at least, while you’re like this. Malfoy and Potter magic combining. What did you think was going to happen?”_

_“Just…that we’d be…”_

_“You’d live happily ever after.” His older self sneered. “How Hufflepuff.”_

_“I…”_

__  
“Harry…are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look awful, mate.”

“Better than some.”

“You’re not going to do him any good sulking about, you know.”

“You’re not going to get me to move from this chair, so lay off already.”

[Pause]

“What?”

“I just don’t get why you’re…look mate, he tricked you, alright? He used the whole courtship thing to get what he wanted.”

“Isn’t that the point of courtship?”

“Yeah, but he’s supposed to convince you. Not trap you into a marriage ritual like that.”

“Well…that’s something for me and Draco to have words about, Ron.”

“You’ll never be able to trust him, mate. You’re married to a bloody Slytherin.”

“I don’t care about that. I just want him to wake up.”

 

__

_A different Hogwarts greeted Draco this time._

_The staircases moved, but not in the usual way, their steps sliding upward or downward in sequence until they deposited their passengers at their chosen level._

_The Express had lost its smokestack and ran through endless underground tunnels, crowded with large groups of strangers who stared away from each other in silence._

_A Severus with spectacles gestured purposefully his wand, casting a tiny dot of red light on an oddly familiar chart full of symbols as the students measured powders and liquids Draco had never seen before into small glass beakers, not a cauldron in sight._

_Trelawny dressed sharply in pinstriped pants and vest, seated before an array of black squares, each bearing a symbol, pressing them in rapid succession with fingers laden with cheap jewelry, leaning forward to peer into a flat, rectangular seeing stone that glowed with some inner light._

_Hagrid strolling through a long corridor, his enormous form swallowed by a thin white robe, open at the front. Stopping to observe the small primate in each cage lining the walls before making a note on a strange slate-like device in his other hand. Casually slipping small treats between the bars between furtive looks at a shiny black orb set into the ceiling at the end of the hallway._

_Filch strolling the halls, a canister twice as big around as himself slung casually over his back, a long hose snaking its way around his waist several times. Holding the nozzle-like tube at the end in his hand, shoving it towards students as they passed and cackling as they recoiled from its hungry whining mouth._

_Draco strolled the halls, searching for the annoying prat he knew had to be here somewhere._

_There._

_Sitting on the ground, staring off into space, as a massively obese man, a similarly tubby boy, and a very ugly skinny woman sat around him, shouting at him, jerking slightly as they poked him with sticks._

_Draco ran to them, pulling out his wand, firing a…something invisible that struck the fat man in the chest, throwing him away from Harry, blood spraying from some wound which he covered with his hands. Draco used the same wordless spell of intent on the woman and the boy as their poking became more savage, and the three suddenly sprawled out away from their victim, hands clutching invisible bleeding wounds._

_Draco reached Harry, who was still staring off into space, dazed._

_“Harry”_

_The green eyes turned to Draco, slow recognition dawning…_

_“Malfoy…you killed my family…”_

__

 

Draco awoke with a gasp, and his husband was instantly by his side.

“Draco! You’re awake!”

“Harry…hi…” Draco said dazedly, gazing up into his eyes.

“Are you okay? Madame Pomfrey should be here any second.” Harry asked anxiously.

“Harry. You cast…Unforgiveables…out there.”

Harry looked defensive.

“You said I had to…”

“I was stupid, they’re addictive. And then you were using some spells that…Harry…I don’t want to be married to the next Dark Lord.”

Harry recoiled.

“I would never…Draco…how can you say that?”

Draco sighed, closing his eyes.

“When Bella cursed me, why did you use the killing curse?”

“I…I was angry! She was a Death Eater and trying to kill you! It was just what came to mind…”

Draco drew in a sharp breath, and Harry stopped, apparently realizing what he’d said…Draco waited until Harry was breathing quick, panicked breaths.

“Harry?”

“I don’t want to go Dark, Draco! I don’t!”

Draco opened his eyes and spoke levelly.

“Harry. I want you to swear an Unbreakable Oath to me that you will never use an Unforgiveable again.”

“Yes! Yes I will.” Harry said eagerly.

Draco squeezed his hand softly in warning.

“Harry. If you cast an Unforgiveable after taking the Oath, you’ll die.”

Harry looked him steadily in the eye.

“I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do what, young man?” Madame Pomfrey glided into the room, casting diagnostic charms at Draco as she moved.

“Madame Pomfrey, we require your services as a bonder, please.” Draco said formally.

“Now see here, I think this is hardly the time for making promises and binding oaths, boys.”

“Madame Pomfrey. Please.” Harry begged.

The woman looked at him and softened imperceptibly.

“Very well. But if it’s something foolish I’ll put a halt to it immediately.”

Harry and Draco clasped hands.

“What is it?”

“Make him promise to never cast an Unforgivable Curse again.” Draco said, not looking away from his husband’s face.

Pomfrey let out a little gasp, but brandished her wand.

“Do you promise to never cast an Unforgivable Curse again?” she asked.

“I do.”

She tapped her wand on their wrists and the red ribbon burned and faded, and they were done.

“Mr. Potter,”

“Potter-Malfoy” he interrupted.

“Mr. Potter-Malfoy, if you’re concerned with addiction, there are a number of prophylactic charms that can make it difficult for you to utter the Unforgiveables.” She informed him.

“I…I’d like that, thank you.”

“I’ll give you the literature you need as soon as I finish up your husband’s checkup.”

Madame Pomfrey turned back to Draco and raised her wand in preparation.

“Well, you seem to have healed quite well Mr. Malfoy-Potter. Are you ready for the big question?”

“What big question?” Harry asked.

Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at the stupid question, while Draco rolled his eyes at his husband’s naivette.

“Harry, shut up and come over here.” He ordered.

Pomfrey’s other eyebrow joined the first as Harry meekly came over to sit on the bed beside him.

Draco took his husband’s hand.

“Remember what I told you about wizards and childbearing?”

“Childbearing?”

Draco kissed his hand.

“We joined. With a _lot_ of love magic flying around. I’d say our chances are pretty good.”

“Better than good.” Pomphrey harrumphed. 

“So…you might be… _pregnant_? Harry asked, sounding horrified. “ _Already_?”

“Hopefully.” Draco said smugly. “You can go ahead with the diagnostic Madame Pomfrey.”

Harry’s eyes were wide as the mediwitch performed a complex charm in the general area of Draco’s abdomen.

A strange yellow glow settled around him.

Draco frowned. That wasn’t one of the usual colors.

“What does yellow mean?”

“It means,” Madame Pomfrey announced, “that you’re pregnant.”

“No, that’s purple. Red or blue if the magic has decided the gender, yet.” He objected. “Did you use an unorthodox scrying charm on my _child_?!”

“Oh, it’s quite standard Mr. Malfoy-Potter. The results simply aren’t standard. I’m afraid you’re going to give birth twice in a row.”

Draco stared at his stomach, the yellow glow still hovering.

“Gender?” he asked, weakly.

The mediwitch cast another charm and the yellow glow merged into his stomach and separated before his eyes, the color flickering until they solidified. Two spots of blue glowed inside his flat stomach.

“There you have it. Two little boys. Both appear quite powerful.”

Draco sagged, pulling Harry to lie with him.

The Gryffindor appeared to still be in shock.

“We’re having… _two_? Already?” Harry mumbled into his neck.

“Well, nine months is the usual waiting time, actually.” Draco said dryly.

“But we haven’t even graduated! We don’t even have a home of our own!”

“Yes we do. The Black Heir will spend his first year in the House of Black.”

“Draco. Grimmauld is _filthy_! We can’t raise two children there!”

“That’s what house elves are for.”

“Hermione is going to kill me…” Harry groaned.

“Granger is free to help out if she wants to reduce their workload. Though I expect the elves themselves will be upset by the invasion of their turf. Still, she’s _your_ friend.”

“I don’t have a job.”

Draco thumped his husband on the back of the head.

“Harry. Even if you weren’t the Lord of two of the wealthiest estates in Britain, and I the Lord of another, you’re fucking _Harry Potter_ , remember?”

“I’m trying to forget.”

“Despite the fact that Harry Potter happens to be married to the gorgeous Draco Malfoy?”

Harry sighed into his neck.

“I guess it has its perks.” He mumbled.

“One of those perks is…‘perking’ up about now.” Draco noted.

“Is it?” Harry said, sounding very interested.

His hand crept under the sheet, inching towards Draco’s crotch.

“NOT in my hospital ward!” Madame Pomfrey scolded, popping back around the corner without warning. “There are impressionable _children_ that come in and out of here! And this is a _sanitary_ environment! I realize the two of you are quite full of hormones at this point, but I’ll have to insist you go somewhere else to satisfy your adolescent urges!”

Draco glared at the interfering witch before pushing the very embarrassed Harry off him so he could get out of the hospital bed.

“Your sheets are coarse and scratchy. And made of _cotton_.” He informed the woman coldly. “I wouldn’t fulfil my adolescent urges on them if you begged me to.”

The mortal insult successfully delivered, he grabbed his blushing husband by the hand and dragged him out of the hospital wing before the stupid Gryffindor could stammer out some sort of _apology_ , of all things!

“Draco, what was that all about? She’s been very nice to me, you know. And she had a special potion that kept you from scarring from that curse.” Harry protested.

Draco paused.

“I was only speaking the dreadful truth. Though…perhaps it was a bit impolite to point out that the sheets were cotton. Yet…Harry…I’m fairly certain they _were_ cotton! I’m not positive, but the material fit the descriptions mother warned me about. Do you think it’s unbearably crude to point it out? Or is it worse to just let her go on without realizing it?”

Harry just gave him a look as if his hair was out of place…which…actually, it might be considering he’d been in the hospital for Merlin knows how long. He’d inconspicuously checked his appearance several times in the reflection of his husband’s eyes while they had been dueling as a team, and again in the reflection of the silver blade he’d used for the bonding ritual just before he’d started it, and again (using the shiny back of Slytherin’s locket) right before beginning the _historic_ ceremony to vanquish the Dark Lord, and then of course he’d had time to conjure a temporary mirror in the palm of his hand after Molly Weasley had hugged him. 

The powerful spells keeping his hair beautiful and perfectly in place had worked during that entire time, even with the magical explosion of their bonding. But he had no idea if it would have held up to Bellatrix’s use of Dark magic on him. Or…perhaps more likely…Madame Pomfrey could have removed his grooming charms to avoid cross-interferences with healing spells.

Draco quickly conjured a small temporary mirror and checked himself.

Hmm, the spells appeared to have frayed. His hair was still shiny and beautiful, of course, good genes don’t need magic to keep working. But the hairs were… _curling_ in an extremely undignified way.

“Draco. What the hell are you doing?” Harry asked, watching his panicked self-inspection with some bewilderment.

Draco dispelled the mirror and snatched his husband’s hand, dragging him to the dungeons.

Then he stopped.

His Slytherins were in the dungeons. There was no way he could get past them to his toiletry set without being seen with blonde _curls_ sticking out every which way!

“Harry! Where is your invisibility cloak?” he asked his husband tensely.

“It’s…I gave it to ‘Mione so she and Ron could sneak me food in the hospital wing in the middle of the night.” Harry said confusedly.

“No! I can’t let all of Slytherin see me with _curly hair_ , Harry!”

“Well…I think it’s really hot…but you can come up to my room to fix it if you want?” Harry said hesitantly, taking a step in that direction.

Draco didn’t move.

“Do you think I want _Gryffindors_ to see me like this?” he hissed.

“Like what?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry was just oblivious to fashion.

That would change, he resolved.

But for now, he needed a miracle.

Then he hit upon it.

 

 

Three hours later, Harry woke up from his nap and found Draco still seated at the massive vanity, carefully applying the third layer of charms to his gleamingly straight hair with a silver comb and his wand.

“Draco…you’ve been doing your hair all day! Can we go now?”

“No. I’m not quite finished.”

“Can _I_ go now?”

“You’re not leaving until I leave.”

“But Draco…this is silly! It looked better curly, anyways.”

“I’ve made it _worse_?” Draco repeated, horrified. 

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. No, it was very nearly perfect. Just a bit more charm-work and he’d be back to his normal sexy self.

Of course. This was Harry. He knew nothing of fashion.

“Harry, don’t ever try to give me fashion advice. You’re horrible at it. Now be quiet. I’m nearly done.”

“You said that…” Harry consulted his watch “two _hours_ ago?!?”

“I was nearly done with the first layer of spells then. If you’ll be quiet I can finish up the last in the next five minutes.”

Harry grumbled something and settled back on the bed the Room had conjured for him, watching Draco from amongst the pillows.

Draco spelled his hair in silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again.

“Do you think we’ll be good parents?”

Draco sniffed.

“Of course we will! We’re both of excellent bloodlines, powerful magic, intelligent, and of course gorgeous. Our children will be perfect!”

“No, I mean do you think we’ll be _good at it_. You know. Raising them. Being parents to them. I can barely even remember my parents…I don’t…I don’t know how it’s supposed to be.”

Draco thought about that for a moment as he finished perfecting his hair.

Then he stood and walked to the bed, looking down at his husband snuggled in blankets and throw pillows.

“You love _me_ , don’t you?”

“You know I do.”

He leant down and kissed him.

“And you will love our children?”

“You know I will.”

Draco pecked him on the lips and stood straight.

“Well that’s the only thing bloodlines and money can’t buy. Time will tell. I’m done with my hair, let’s go tell our friends our news.”


	30. Epilogue

A tall lanky teen laughed uproariously as he tumbled in the grass, a large black dog and a small crowd of children rolling on the ground with him. Chuckling some more as the big wolf managed to pin him on his back for a round of sloppy doggy kisses.

The children seemed to catch the idea, and their giggles merged with those of the older boy as he was mercilessly tickled, the wolf howling joyfully as he ran quick circles around the happy throng.

The old woman watched for a moment, drawn to the infectious sounds of happy youth as she leaned on the post that supported the roof over her porch. Ready to call the children and their exuberant guest in for dinner.

Her gaze was drawn to another figure. 

Long, almost girlish blonde hair, tall, slim, but definitely a young man. His posture fully erect, standing perfectly still on the edge of the porch, a marble statue but for the blowing hair. Pointy features on white skin…all made indefinably pretty by the soft lingering smile as he watched the crowd of children. Or, perhaps, watched one of them.

“Stop! Stop! Let me breathe! You! Yes, _you_ Moony! You’re encouraging them, give me a fighting chance you crazy monster!” the teen protested loudly, green eyes dancing in a way that belied his complaints. 

The old woman forsook the pillar she’d leaned on and approached the young man.

“You love him.” She observed.

A solitary eyebrow raised to acknowledge her, the eyes – a silvery gray color, she noticed – not leaving the wild black-haired boy in the yard.

The old woman found another pillar to lean against, so she stood beside the young watcher. The peaceful set of the face, the affectionate roll of the eye at the other boy’s antics. This was no fresh hormone-inspired romance.

“For a long time, I think.” She observed slowly, “Childhood friends?”

The mouth curled into a contemplative smile.

“Something like that.” The smooth, cultured drawl said. “If several years of bitter rivalry can be classed as a kind of friendship.”

The old lady chuckled.

“Strange how some things turn out, isn’t it?”

The young man nodded minutely, eyes never leaving the other.

“He laughs like someone who hasn’t in years.”

A sharp tightening of the face. Yes. This one knew whatever history caused the desperate tone of joyfulness in the other’s laughter.

The old woman leaned forward to whisper.

“It’s good that he laughs now, and with those close to him. There’s no dignity in needless solemnity.”

The young man’s eyes jerked to meet hers at that, startled awareness showing in them before they swiftly pinned themselves back to the other boy, some nameless struggle behind them as he watched his friend’s carefree behavior.

“Dinner is in ten minutes.” The old woman informed him quietly, giving a small gesture in the direction of the romping children as she turned to reenter the guesthouse.

The young man hesitated, his perfect posture flawed by a moment of undecided tension. Then he stepped forward, off the edge of the porch, striding resolute towards where the teenager wrestled with the children and wolf.

A bark of greeting signaled his presence, and green eyes lit up as they found him.

“Draco!”

Draco stopped a few feet away from the tangle of limbs, arms crossing defensively before realizing the gesture, shoving hands awkwardly in trouser pockets.

“Who’re these?” he asked, smiling.

“Jimmy, and Frederick, and Susie, and Donny, and Sam!” Harry grinned back, pointing at each child in turn. “Kids, this is Draco, my- oh, Moony, _no_!”

Draco was struck hard from behind, stumbling forward to land in Harry’s lap, the wolf on his back, its ambery eyes lit with unholy glee as it stuck a wet nose right into Draco’s flawless blond locks.

The kids giggled as they closed in on this new victim, little fingers working their energetic magic on his ribs as they commenced the tickle-torture, reducing him to laughing fits.

Harry was half defending him, half joining in the assault, leaning back to take in the sight of his refined lover turned red from laughter, blond locks flying everywhere as he thrashed to escape his lupine and human tormenters.

Draco finally managed to roll away, coming up to his knees in a defensive pose.

Harry seemed to sober, a tentative look on his face as he waited for the inevitable tantrum.

Draco glowered at the wolf, pointing an accusing finger at it.

“You better watch your back, you vicious beast! I know who makes your medicine!”

The wolf growled playfully at the threat, dancing nearer to the blond. 

Only to leap backwards in alarm as Draco launched himself at the beast, managing to snag a handful of fur and dragging the animal backwards.

Harry looked on, shocked for a second at the uncharacteristic behavior, then smiled slowly, sending a conspiratorial glance at the children.

“Did you know that Draco is short for Dragon?”

The children gathered round.

“He’s a dragon?” Jimmy asked, wide-eyed.

“Breathes fire, every morning.” Harry confirmed.

“He has Moony!” Susie shouted, horrified.

“He bites, too. Probably have Moony for lunch, he’s good and mad.” Harry told them solemnly.

“We can’t let him have Moony!” Frederick announced.

“But Freddie he’s a _dragon_! He breathes _fire_!” Sam protested.

“Only first thing in the morning.” Harry reminded them.

“See? So it’s night-time, he can’t fry us!” Frederick said, standing resolutely to his feet. The others followed.

“Will you help us slay him, Harry?”

“I can’t, he’s my friend.” Harry said sadly. “He’d never forgive me.”

“Coward!” Donnie said. “We don’t need him…everybody… _chaaaaaaarge_!”

The five children ran towards where Draco was half atop Moony, being dragged around the yard in circles. Shouts of “Save poor Moony” and “Kill the Dragon” merged with Draco’s threats on the wolf’s life, countered by barks and growls and suspicious slurping noises, echoed around the yard for several moments.

In seconds, there was a tangled mess exhausted of children, teen, and wolf on the lawn, each feebly attempting small vengeful attacks on the others. Interrupted nicely by the clanging bell that signaled dinner.

Harry crawled over to his boyfriend, straddling him before lying down on top of him.

“Thanks.” Was all he said.

Draco grunted something and huffed at his husband to get off.

“Ugh. Just _look_ at me. We’re supposed to get married in just a few hours.”

Harry looked down at him.

“You look…perfect. Don’t change anything.”

“I’m a mess.”

“You’re _you_. This one is for just us, remember?”

“My parents-”

“Are already impressed by the official one.” Harry finished, laying a finger on Draco’s lips.

Draco paused, then nodded.

“Let me up. We should wash for dinner.”

 

Harry followed him to the bathroom, then stood behind him, arms around him, watching them together in the mirror for a moment as he washed his hands.

“Draco. Would you…consider taking the spells off your hair tomorrow?”

Draco looked up, shocked.

“What? Are you insane?”

Harry tucked his chin over his husbands shoulder.

“Just for the wedding? I…I’d really like to see you dressed up, with your hair curly like…like after the other one.”

Draco paused for a long moment.

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this. It’s a public event.”

“It’s not an _event_. And it’s not public. Just your parents, Blaise and Pansy, Hermione, Moony and the Weasleys.”

“What about the villagers…”

“You don’t care what Muggles think, remember?”

“Harry,”

Harry turned his face in to rub it against some of Draco’s magically straightened locks, then turned his pleading gaze back to the mirror.

“Please?”

 

 

The ceremony was small and simple. The two young men stood face to face atop a grassy knoll, the priest behind them bracketed by the setting sun.

Next to the one with long, slightly curly blond hair stood a tall, regal-looking mand with long blond hair tied back in a loose tail, arm around an elegantly beautiful blond woman. Beside them, a dark-haired teenaged girl and a tall black teenaged boy.

Beside the dark haired young man stood a tired-looking man with graying hair, a bushy haired teenaged girl and a small crowd of red-haired people, apparently an entire family.

The two young men in the middle, oblivious to the others as the priest directed their vows.

“Do you, Draco, take Harry as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death never to be parted?”

“I do.”

“And do you Harry take Draco as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, in health, from this day forward, until death never to be parted?”

“I do.”

“In light of your vows, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce you husband, and husband. You may now kiss as a token of your sealed union before all these witnesses.”

Draco moved in until his face was inches from Harry’s.

“Is this how you dreamed of it?”

Harry looked up into his husband’s silver glowing eyes. Ran his hand up his cheek, fingers carding into the free-flowing white-blond hair.

He smiled gently, stroking his husband’s face and hair.

“Better than I dreamed.” 

Then their lips met.

“HOOOOOONKK!” They were jerked from their reverent embrace by the sound of the Weasley twins blowing party favors that _had_ to have been magically enhanced for volume.

A shower of rice rained down on them as the townsfolk gathered to wish the charming young couple a happy honeymoon, and Fred and George snuck up on them and hoisted the two blushing grooms onto their shoulders, making them highly visible targets.

Molly Weasley could be heard howling at them to put them down so they could come to the reception she’d prepared.

Draco, sitting on George’s shoulders, held tightly to Harry’s hand where he was sat on Fred’s shoulders next to him, the two twins giggling madly as they jogged through the crowd at an insane pace.

“Harry, I just _had_ one of Molly’s celebration dinners a week ago! I can’t take another!” Draco panted to his husband.

“Never fear, our lady damsels! _We_ would never let…”

“…such a charmingly traditional wedding…”

“…go to waste, without partaking…”

“…in one of the more enjoyable wedding pranks…”

“…traditionally enjoyed by the friends of the groom!” The twins richocheted.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked nervously. “What wedding prank!”

“Why, to kidnap the bride…”

“Of course! Only, we couldn’t decide…”

“…which of you should count as the bride…”

“…Harry is smaller…”

“Hey, I am _not!_ ”

“…but Draco spends so much time on his hair…”

“I spend a perfectly reasonable amount of time-”

“…but Harry was on top at the first wedding…”

“I _told_ you I didn’t want to have sex in public, Draco!”

“…but we heard them say they’d switch for this one…”

“That was a _private conversation_! I’m going to kill you both!”

“I’ll help!”

“…but Draco’s pregnant!”

“So…we just decided…”

“…to kidnap you both!”

There was a moment of silence as the twins artfully dodged the small town’s constable, ducking into a narrow alley, one twin pulling out what appeared to be…a garter, the portkey quickly whisking away the four of them to…an anonymous hotel room.

An ambulance could be heard just outside the windows as Fred and George unceremoniously dumped their burdens onto the large revolving, heart-shaped bed that dominated the center of the room.

Harry and Draco sat up shakily, supporting each other as they watched the twins warily.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Las Vegas, baby!” Fred crowed.

“You’re in a Honeymoon Suite at the Bellagio Hotel!” George clarified.

“Where you will remain for three days…”

“…of gambling…”

“…drinking…”

“…caraousing…”

“…and don’t forget lots and lots of hot, HOT, sex…”

“…with _out_ any hidden cameras or recording spells, of course…”

“…we promise!”

“…And if there were any, they’d be strictly for our own very private use!”

“…but there aren’t any, so you need not worry yourselves about it!”

“And after Las Vegas, we’ve booked your passage on a week-long cruise!”

“To Hawaii!”

“Where we’ve rented you a tidy bungalow on the beach!”

“Where you’ll have an entire week!”

“…of scuba diving, surfing, sailing…”

“…wild parties, beach volleyball…”

“…and lots of wild sex!”

“Which will also _not_ be videotaped or otherwise recorded!”

“And then you’ll be taking a flight to Tokyo!”

“And so on! For the entire summer!”

“And throughout the entire magical world!”

“Having glorious, uninhibited…”

“…unobserved and unrecorded sex…”

“In all sorts of exotic locations!”

The twins enthused.

“What?”

“Now wait a minute, if you’ve got some kind of gadget watching us in here there’s no way I’m staying here!” Harry growled.

“Nothing! Honest!” George insisted

“We _told_ you we _aren’t_ using anything to watch!” the other twin said, innocently.

“Who’s paying for all this, anyways?”

“Never fear my pretty ladies…OW!” Fred recoiled as Draco kicked him in the shins.

“Fine then! Our gallant heroic lads… _what_ , what could possibly be offensive about that?” George recoiled as Harry glared at him.

“Can’t we just be Harry and Draco for _once_?” Harry growled.

Fred and George stopped for a moment, the wind taken out of their sails entirely.

Then they brightened.

“Of course you can!”

“You’re going to be Harry and Draco…” 

“…that really _really_ hot couple…”

“… having amazing sex over in Suite 301!”

“Or Bungalow 7!”

“Or…well…anyways, that’ll just be a surprise!”

“It’s all being payed for out of your honeymoon vaults anyways!”

“Our honeymoon… _vaults_?” Harry asked, weakly.

Draco cuddled his husband close and kissed him on the cheek.

“Of course. We’re both male, after all. No dowry, double the honeymoon.”

Draco looked up at the twins.

“Thank you both. Mind you. If there _is_ any recording spell in any of the locations you’ve reserved for us, and you don’t remove them now, I’ll find out about them when I slip Veritaserum in your tea at some undisclosed future date, and then remove your bits in a very painful and magically permanent way.” He informed them.

“Ah. Of course.” George stuttered, pulling out his wand.

Draco narrowed his eyes at them, before pointedly turning his attention to Harry.

“It sounds like we’re in all Muggle places for our honeymoon. So, we can be as anonymous as we want. How does that sound?”

The twins were arguing in furious whispers behind them.

Harry smiled shyly.

“It sounds perfect.”

“Good.”

Draco leaned in to kiss his twice-over husband on the lips.

“Ahem!”

He turned his irritated attention to Fred, who stood slightly in front of George, looking rather disgruntled.

“I suppose we’ll be off to let the two of you enjoy the show…er…enjoy yourselves.” He grunted.

“So! Have a great time!...Uh…Finite Incatatum!” George said, then snatched at the porkey hanging around his neck, a panicked look on his face as he disappeared.

Fred suddenly noticed his twin had given away the game and fled, and grabbed his own.

“I can’t believe those two were actually going to…Draco, do you suppose they removed _all_ the surveillance charms?” Harry asked anxiously.

Draco rolled over on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows so he could look down at his husband.

“Well. I suppose we’ll find out for sure when we have them over for dinner next. In the meantime, I’m not going to hold back just because those cretins might be watching.”

He leaned in to kiss him.

“But Draco, what if they are?”

“Well, I’ll be sure to Obliviate them after I remove their bits.” Draco said confidently.

“Oh. Okay, that should work then.”

Draco leaned in for a kiss, then leaned back, gazing down at Harry’s face for a while, a small smile on his mouth.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Oh nothing. I’m just looking forward to getting to make love to you tonight.”

“Who says we have to wait for night?”

 

 

Three months later, a very tired Harry Potter-Malfoy closed his eyes and let his husband apparate them to the place Draco had prepared for them to spend the last few weeks of summer together.

Draco leaned in and placed his lips against Harry’s cheek next to his ear.

“Keep your eyes closed, Harry. Just for a bit longer.”

He guided him carefully up the winding brick path, then stood behind his husband, placing his hands over his eyes.

“You can open them now.”

Harry did, holding his breath as his husbands fingers slowly peeled away…

The quaint little cottage had been built on the apex of the small hill, overlooking a small valley with a charming little creek spanned by a cute footbridge.

Draco took his shocked husband’s hand and kissed it before gently drawing him towards the door of the cottage.

“This will be our home away from home. The place we go when the children are visiting their grandparents, or at school. This is our own little love nest away from it all. Welcome to Mount Erised, Harry.”

Harry’s hands shook as his fingers grazed the smooth sanded surface of the oak door.

“This is…this is…but… _how_?” he stammered.

“Knowledge is power, and we Malfoys have always sought after power.” Draco smirked, extremely pleased with the stunned expression on his husband’s face.

Then he swept Harry up into his arms, pausing at the threshold.

“Besides. I’d go to any lengths to please you, my Harry.”

Harry’s arms crept around his neck and Draco allowed a true smile to spread across his face as he carried his love across the threshold.

 

 

_****_

_**DRACO MALFOY-POTTER GIVES BIRTH TO TWINS!  
Family friend describes Black and Potter Heirs as ‘chipped off an old block’** _

_**January 15, 1998** _

_According to sources close to Wizarding Britain’s most powerful couple, Draco Lucien Malfoy-Potter gave birth to two healthy young males this morning, both of which were tested extremely high on the **E** arly **MA** gical **S** trength **C** ore **U** ndeveloped **LA** tent **T** alent **E** valuation._

_Regulus Sirius Potter-Malfoy Black, whose EMASCULATE score was a stunning 186, was presented to the severely crippled Black Ancestral Magics at the family home, and eagerly accepted by the family rituals._

_A family house elf professed is alleged to have disrupted the ceremony with loud exclamations of relief at no longer being forced to serve Harry Potter, the legal godson of Sirius Black, and indicated satisfaction at having the chance to once again serve not only Draco Malfoy-Potter, who is a blooded Black due to his mother, but the newly born Black Heir._

_Unfortunately, the excited creature had to be physically subdued when it attempted to kidnap the the young Heir to be raised away from “filthy mudblood influences” as one outspoken portrait described it._

_James Remus Potter-Malfoy, whose EMASCULATE score was a similarly impressive 183, was presented to the Potter familial magics at Godrics Hollow, which was rebuilt over the original foundations of the ancestral Potter home during the summer honeymoon of the famous couple, this morning._

_Sources close to the Potter-Malfoys stated that this was a highly emotional scene for recently married Harry James Potter-Malfoy, who reportedly broke down in tears upon entering the restored nursery where he originally defeated You-Know-Who at the age of one._

_When asked about future plans to produce the Malfoy Heir, Draco Malfoy-Potter stated that “my bedroom schedule is none of your fucking business”, however close friends Fred and George Weasley informed this reporter that “knowing those two, I’d be surprised if something isn’t already in the works”._

_We at the Daily Prophet surely wish the best to this extraordinarily stunning couple, and dearly wish, as your faithful reporters, that we could be the fly on their bedroom wall – so that we could bring you more timely reports on their progress, of course!_

_Sadly, our efforts on your behalf have been foiled by a sophisticated array of bug-zapping Muggle devices. But never fear, the intrepid struggle to bring you up-to-date news on the activities of your favorite wizarding couple will continue without end!_

__**  
MUDBLOOD GENIUS RELEASES ASTOUNDING POTIONS BREAKTHROUGH  
Hogwarts Potions Master says controversial research is ‘passable’**

_**April 27, 1999** _

_Hermione Granger-Weasley, close friend of Harry Potter-Malfoy, announced a new line of potions that will be made available to the public at select Apothecary locations throughout Europe over the next several months._

_Among these astounding releases are permanent sex-change potions, a variety of gene-splicing Adoption potions, a Metamorphmagus Draught, a wide variety of medical potions including a Soul-Reversion Potion that can reverse the effects of the Dementors Kiss, a complete cure for Lycanthropy, and transfiguration-based quick-heal preventatives that will be used by Aurors going into dangerous situations._

_Mrs. Granger-Weasley announced to much public controversy that these breakthroughs were made possible by a new branch of Potion research, which integrates modern techniques of Muggle Chemistry with the magical principles inherent to Potion-making._

_This research was reportedly conducted by the Mudblood Institute, a research project that seeks to combine Muggle technology with magical theory, which is reportedly funded by one Mr. Draco Malfoy-Potter himself. When asked for comment on the project, Mr. Malfoy-Potter stated that “Granger is certainly the most intelligent witch of our generation, but our business model for the next decade is none of your fucking business.”_

_Potions Master Severus Snape, the only British supplier of Wolfsbane, when pressed for comment on the cure for Lycanthropy stated that “While her her actual brewing skills lack finesse, Miss Granger is, I suppose, a somewhat passable researcher. I do look forward to reading her work – as soon as some unwelcome guests remove themselves from my quarters.”_

_In related news, Professor Snape has recently approved the use of Granger-Weasley’s textbook “Potions for Dummies” for his first year class at Hogwarts. In commenting on the text, Mr. Snape had this to say: “It astounds me every year the number of dunderheads I am forced to deal with. Utter fools who wouldn’t know a Worgroot from a Bloodfronde, melting cauldrons, disrupting my classroom with their stupid questions, destroying my lab with their unforgiveable mistakes. It is, without doubt, despicable to lower expectations of the bare minimum of competence upon entry into one of my classrooms, but sadly necessary to avoid dangerously stupid mistakes.”_

_The textbook is said to be highly popular among incoming Muggleborn students, as it is themed according to a very popular Muggle series of beginner texts._

_Professor Snape is reported to be working on his own beginners textbook, titled “The Dark Arts for Dummies”. The original title was allegedly “Dark Arts for Dunderheads” but with the success of the Potions text, the changed title may very well ride the coat-tails of change in the Hogwarts curriculum, which has remained the same for over a century._

_There are additional rumors of an upcoming “Quidditch for Dummies” to be jointly authored by Mr. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter-Malfoy, and a highly controversial “Blood-Politics and Traditions for Dummies” by Draco Malfoy-Potter._

_We at the Daily Prophet will keep you up-to-date on these developments, which, while being by their very nature uninteresting (we at the Prophet understand that newspapers are far easier to read than books), are nevertheless of interest because they are created by such interesting people._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! But there is a sequel in progress. Because…Draco only destroyed the Horcruxes Voldemort actually knew about! See what that means for Draco and Harry in The Orphaned Soul!


End file.
